


One thousand and one nights

by AlbaAdler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbaAdler/pseuds/AlbaAdler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And I have a beta  again!!!</p><p>Thanks to Lauralina who now is helping me with this fic!<br/>Chapters 1-10 edited!!!</p><p>CHAPTER 11 READY<br/>Story complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is chapter 1 version 2.0 ;).   
> Thanks to Singing Banana for help me with this.   
> Soon the others chapters will be edited too!

1\. Night One

 

He didn't remember the walls around the Iron Door being so tall. Perhaps because never before had he crossed them with such a high probability of never going through them alive again. A cart passed by his side and splashed him with mud. The men guarding the merchandise didn't even give him an apologetic glance.

He enjoyed the anonymity.  For all those men he was no more than a foreigner, surely only an outsider, a merchant coming from Essos to trade.

Just a few things had changed since the last time he was there. The tower, destroyed by the fire at the King's Landing siege had been rebuilt and the main road was recently paved. Besides that, just the three headed dragon banners showed any significant difference. Life in Westeros was as unaltered with his presence as it was before with his absence.

His hair was cut short, and the silver, slowly but surely, made its way between the gold that colored it. The cloak hid the stump at his right arm. And surely he had never been so far  from feeling  like The Lion of Lannister. He still was Jaime, a little merchant from Pentos, who was happy with a simple life, far away from the game of thrones.

But the damn game had demanded his participation and he could no longer refuse that last game, even knowing in advance that he had no chance of winning.

Recovering his mocking smile, he wondered how much damage he would do to the men in charge of his chase – that he was there, knocking at the door and voluntary giving himself up. For a long time he stood still in front of a guard who was watching the entrance. Purely out of arrogance, he chose the fiercest one. The man looked at him, angrier by his insolence than by the menace he could become.

Still, he had enough time to turn around, take the first ship available and get back home. The man tightened his sword's hilt and glanced at him with a threatening gesture. Jaime just had to look away, step back and disappear.

Even at that moment he could do go home, facing no further consequences...

"I want to see your Queen, boy." It sounded more like an order than a request.

After all, he was still a Lannister, and a Lannisters never begged or requested.   Lannisters direct and lead.

He was the one making the decision; he had chosen the time and the place to face the Targaryen woman. Silly, but that idea made him feels satisfied.

To his surprise the guardsman took all that with hilarity. He called out his partner and pointed out at Jaime before bowing to him so dramatically that his sword scratched the floor. "Hey, Gion! Ser Begger asks for an audience with the Queen. Surely she will be wearing her best dress to take dinner with him, don't you think?”

 

Gion joined his partner’s laugh and just for a moment both forgot Jaime. He crossed his arms, clearly showing his stump. The men stopped laughing and Jaime started to smile.

“I dare to say she has spent the last years of her life waiting for me. But if you don't believe me, just tell her that Jaime Lannister is here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she herself comes to welcome me, as soon as she knows the Kingslayer wants to send his regards.”

With no more laughing, both men took their swords quickly and aimed at him, suddenly deeming him a real threat. They studied him slowly: golden hair, green eyes, a stump on his right arm, cocky smile. Who else, besides the Kingslayer, could fit that description?

He continued smiling.

In the end —and his pride was mortally wounded because of that — the queen didn’t show up to meet him. However, she made him feel welcome in many other ways. She sent him to a cell at the highest point of the reconstructed tower, a hard cot cover with straw, with a blanket, old but clean; bread, salad, meat and fresh water. It wasn't bad; he’d stayed at more humble inns on his way to the North.

And the climax of kindness: just a chain on his ankle. He could walk around his cell from corner to corner. Knowing his legs would be well exercised when his head fell off was reassuring. All that was a real improvement compared to his previous captivities. He couldn't complain, he even had a tiny window looking to the harbor. Thanks to the window, he found comfort imagining that if he tried very hard, he would see what was happening on the other side of the sea.

At the end of the day her Grace didn't honor him with her presence, nor did his brother Tyrion. Maybe they thought it necessary to break his will with uncertainty first. He would have liked to tell them they were losing their time because his will had never been stronger, and he had no doubts. He was sure his surrender itself was a death sentence, and he was ready to face it.

That was the right thing to do, he thought, looking to the sea illuminated by the last daylight. Perhaps that was the most honorable and noble deed he had ever done; nevertheless, it was also the most painful. When the dark of his first night covered him, so too dida great loneliness.

He would save the most precious thing he ever had, even if that meant losing it for him.


	2. Night 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter it was already corrected but I didn't uploaded. So sorry. Here you go anyway.

**2\. Night 3**

To Jaime, the fear of  death had never been the most frightening thing during his captivities. Not even torture pain and, though he wasn’t particularly suited to to face humiliation, what really could break him was tedium. Mortal boredom of having his shadow and the constant menace of his memories as his only companions.

Prior to his life in the free cities, his executioner had been a lot of horrors and memories that he tried to hide behind reminisces of pleasure.

Nowadays, however, the implacable memories were the times of happiness. And for them there was no other shelter than oblivion and he couldn’t forget because those precious moments were the reason he was facing his current situation. Memories gave him strength and made him stand still.

He looked up at the untouched dishes they had given him earlier. Maybe it wasn’t a banquet but the quality and quantity were beyond his expectations. He was under the watch of very sympathetic and generous jailers, though, and until then he hadn’t seen anybody besides serving girls and guards.

It was getting dark. Among the few things he always enjoyed at King’s Landing, its nights were at the top. Velvety skies starry  and clean even in the deepest winter. He was watching through the window, contemplating the night, when some noises came behind the door. A while  later, someone opened it. It wasn’t the girl who should have come to collect the dinner dishes, nor was it a guard. The figure standing at the front of the door and approaching him with short steps didn’t raise too much over the ground. He didn’t seem to have aged too much since the last time he saw him. Tyrion Lannister: Hand of the present Queen, Lord of Casterly Rock, his brother, and his father’s murderer.

For a long while they looked at each other as if that was the first time they had met. Awkward and unsure glances passed between them, neither knowing exactly what to do or say.

Jaime remembered perfectly the first time he saw his little brother. If he hadn’t lost his right hand he was sure his little finger would be tickling, as if baby Tyrion was holding it again.

_On that day, Cersei had stood tall, her chin up, hieratic; flaunting her dry eyes and a dignity that didn’t suit a nine year old girl who just had lost her mother. She looked more worried about giving  a good impression than for considering the chair which, from that moment, would be empty in the Casterly Rock dining hall._

_Even though Jaime did not want to mimic his sister’s behavior, he had to admire it. He hadn’t learned to pretend by then, so he didn’t bother to hide the tears that freely ran down his face; he didn’t feel ashamed of them. Just then did he begin to taste the bitterness of loneliness, because through that difficult period his only comfort was Aunt Genna’s arm around his shoulders._

_After the service Tywin enclosed himself in the library, not letting anybody in, and eating only enough to not starve . Nobody spoke of little Tyrion. The boy was forgotten, left to the care of his wet nurse, alone and almost hidden, as if his mere existence was a shame or a crime._

_At the beginning, Jaime looked in on him just for curiosity’s sake. The baby, after all, was his little brother and he wanted to know him. Wrapped in velvets and resting in a fancy cradle, full of silks, laces and golden thread, the baby was alone in the dark, not moving  at all. Jaime thought him sleepy and opened the windows to look at him better._

_Tyrion was awake and fixed his tiny and mismatched eyes on his older brother . He stretched his twisted and abnormally small legs lightly, and sighed deeply, as a grown man would. The first glance between the brothers was enough to make Jaime understand that, quite surely, of all the people in the entire castle, only his little brother could understand and share his loneliness. He kept thinking the same thing for many years._

_When he lifted his hand to touch the baby, the boy took his little finger and held it tight, still looking up at him. He smiled at his brother, recalling  his mother’s words a few weeks before she died._

_“You’ll be his big brother and will teach him a lot of things. You’re going to take care of him and protect him, aren’t you, darling?” He promised it and embraced her tightly despite her huge belly._

_The baby kept holding his finger, and at that moment Jaime felt he was starting to love his brother. He also knew that this love had  nothing to do with the promised he made to his mother. Even though he renewed his vow to his mother’s memory and to his brother, he’d always be near to protect him._

_Another oath he had broken._

His mind returning to the present, Jaime looked down, defeated, and Tyrion took that as a cue to end the awkward moment. Before anyone could say a word, a girl opened the door and came inside carrying a tray with wine and a couple of glasses.

Tyrion took the only available chair and ordered the girl to serve a glass of wine to Jaime. He took it, but just drinking a sip to make it clear that he didn’t distrust  his brother.

“Why on earth did you have to give yourself in? Why do such a stupid thing right now?” Tyrion was straight to the point. There was anger in his voice.

“Well, you know me,” Jaime sighed, taking a little sip of wine, “for the same reason I have done most of the stupid things in my life: to protect someone.”

“To protect Brienne?” Jaime didn’t answer. He wanted to trust in him, but the risk was too  great. “She has never been in danger. The queen has nothing against her. She appreciated everything Brienne did at The Wall. Her only fault is being your wife, and the last time I knew, surrender to the Lannister charm it was not a crime,” he laughed more relaxed.

“And all brothels in Westeros must be thankful for that,” Jaime added, raising his glass and making a toast after Tyrion laughed at his joke.

“Did she agree to this?”  Tyrion’s voice filled with false suspicion . He knew the answer in advance.

Jaime had always hated this particular talent of his brother’s. He could roughly find the topic of any conversation, no matter how hidden it was. No, of course Brienne had never let him do such thing, even knowing for certain that it was the best thing he could do.

“Let’s just say that once she knew what I was doing, it was too late for her to stop me.”

Every morning when he woke up, Jaime wondered how his wench would react after reading his letter. Did she cry or curse him? Or, even in her rage, would she take his entire existence and throw it into the mud?

“Then she is probably just about to arrive. And if I were in your shoes, brother, I’d be praying to the gods for a safe cell to keep me protected from my wife’s rage,” Tyrion smiled, cunningly. Jaime smiled briefly too.

“No. She won’t come here,” Jaime assured him, and glanced away. It was safer to change the subject.

Tyrion made himself comfortable in his chair, filled his glass again and pretended not to realize his uneasiness.

“You know,” Tyrion went on in a chatty intonation, “long before you two reached the  North, stories about you could be heard anywhere.”

“The Kingslayer and his whore,” Jaime stated with annoyance.

No matter how much he and Brienne had pretended to be immune to gossip and rumors, the cruelty of some of them still could hurt them - her, mainly.

“Some of them,”  agreed his brother. “There were others more… romantic. Worthy of songs,”  he glanced at him deeply. “I must confess, at the beginning I didn’t believe all the gossip about your relationship with Brienne. Later, when I knew you had married, I doubted your true intentions. I thought you were only looking for a safe shelter, in case everything else failed.” There was no censure in Tyrion’s words. He spoke as a practical man who approved such a reason to wed a woman, any woman.

Jaime smiled, trying to conceal his bitterness.  Not for the first time, he asked himself if he were someone other than the Kingslayer, would people think he had less paltry motivations for marrying Brienne? Although, as Brienne always said, nobody in all of Westeros would believe a man was willing to marry her for any other reason than the appealing incomes of Tarth.

“However, the first time I saw you together, it was clear enough to me. Of course you would never consent to sharing your life with a woman without love. Actually, I felt pretty stupid. Then I saw how you two can keep an entire conversation just through glances, and there was no doubt left to me - you really do love each other.”

“Well, then, I have to congratulate you. You’re a very wise man. It took me a little longer to understand how she felt about me,” Jaime confessed without thinking.

Tyrion watched him, his eyebrows raised, but asked no more, for which Jaime was thankful.

“I’d never have pictured you with a woman like that,” He added after a while. “I can’t think of someone more different from Cersei.”

“Maybe that was exactly what attracted me,” Jaime said, thinking it wasn’t such nonsense after all.

A long  time ago, when he finally understood what he really felt for  Brienne, his reflections were very alike to what Tyrion has just said.

_Winter was starting to show its strength, and they only had a couple of furs between them. They were sitting together, trying to get warm, so close to each other and to the fire that it was a wonder their clothes weren’t already burned._

_It had been a long day and just as they finished eating, the wench started to doze off until she fell asleep with her head on Jaime’s shoulder. The familiarity of her hair tickling his ear made him feel relaxed and calm. He carefully put her head over his knees and watched her sleep for a long while._

_He didn’t believe it possible that someone - not even her own father, who must love her so deeply - could find some beauty in her. Nevertheless, while she was sleeping, her face relaxed and the girl looked so young, sweet and naïve that in spite of her strength and size, he felt the savage instinct to protect her and make her happy  bloom inside him._

_It was pure reflex, he was sure, which pushed his hand to touch her wounded cheek. It felt uneven and cold, but not unpleasant. By the end of the brief caresses he simply knew it: he loved her. Not just like a friend or a partner at arms. He had fallen in love with her._

_The realisation came to him naturally, without surprise or shock. It was like being inside a maze and taking the final turn to find the exit. Like placing the last piece of the puzzle and looking at the entire painting for the first time._

_When she felt his hand on her face she opened her eyes, drowsy and confused, weary but smiling, as only someone who has just had a nice dream could. There, in the middle of a cold forest, full of dangers, without any comforts, with no bed or any shelter, she seemed happy. She was so full of contrasts: so fierce and unappealing externally, so vulnerable and beautiful on the inside._

_“Go back to sleep, Brienne,”  he said to her softly, caressing her hair. “I’ll do the first watch tonight.”_

_And for once, she obeyed with no further protest. She closed her eyes and, after a soft sigh, she fell asleep again, placidly. Jaime kept caressing her with the naïve hope of being able to chase away her nightmares by doing  so._

_She was so young and naïve, so different from Cersei._

“Until the day her head rolled on the floor, Cersei swore that your marriage to Brienne was nothing more than foolish gossip...”

Jaime was unable to suppress a grimace. Despite everything, he didn’t find any consolation in his sister’s death. Especially now, when he was so close to following in her footsteps and facing  the same executioner.

“If you tell me where she is I can send for her,”  Tyrion suddenly said, returning Jaime’s mind to the present. “I would ensure her safety during the trip, and she would be treated with all the respect due to her rank. She could be here for your trial. You could...

Tyrion got emotional with that last sentence. He couldn’t find the courage to finish the line, but the unsaid _see her for the last time and say goodbye_ stuck in his throat. The implicit end of the sentence was so cruel, as if he should have shouted it or, as if, with his silence, he had stamped his signature and sealed the decree of his brother’s death sentence.

“No. I’m not going to make her go through this,” Jaime replied, with gratitude and determination.

Brienne had already seen the man she loved dying in her arms once. Jaime wanted, in the future, for Brienne to remember and hold on to the good times. He didn’t want her to remember him - his head stuck on a pike – becoming the protagonist in his wife’s nightmares.

It was safer to have her far away until everything ended, for her own good and, for other reasons, which it was not yet suitable to confess to anyone.

“I'm doing all that I can to help you,” Tyrion said, before leaving.

Jaime nodded.


	3. Night 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much Lauralina for all your help with this chapter!

# 3\. Night 5

 

For Jaime, it would have been absurdto deceive himself pretending not to be disappointed by Tyrion’s absence the next day. He tried to comfort himself by thinking that due to his brother position he would have the day full of activities and commitments, and visit his jailed brother was a luxury that Tyrion could not have every day. Unfortunately, although thatnotionreassured him regarding the relationship with his brother, it did nothing to ease his loneliness and boredom.

And the queen didn’t seem interested in seeing him. When Jaime questioned Tyrion in this regard, he was evasive, ambiguous and changed the subject at the first opportunity. It was obvious that he knew more than he could say and Jaime decided not to press him, which was the only gift he could make to him as a sign of their gratitude.

And he had a lot to thank him for. After his visit he received an extra pair of blankets and now his food included a generous portion of a very good quality wine. Jaime had never shared his family's excessive love for wine, but knowing Tyrion was willing to have such detail made him feel better, so much better.

It was late afternoon when Jaime noticed the absence of the serving boy who daily brought him the dinner. He wasn’t hungry, but he was welcome of anything that broke the solitude and could distract him of his memories and the wait. After a while, the door opened and a petite and fast figure appeared, carrying a tray that was obviously too large for the size of the carrier.

Jaime approached the girl with the intention to help her, but it was difficult to maintain the tray balanced with his sole hand, and the girl seemed quite inexpert, so all the meals were on the verge of falling.

He didn’t complain anymore for the loss of his hand. When he did it or was reluctant to accept help, Brienne always reminded him that things were easier with two or three hands than with just one. Sometimes he wasn't sure if having someone as permanently installed in his thoughts was a blessing or a curse. What he only knew for sure, that there was nothing that he could do to help it.

Both ended up placing the tray on the table. The girl —she could not be much older than twenty—, gave him a weak smile of gratitude before doing a clumsy curtsey.

She was very beautiful. Thin, with milk white skin, and her very blond hair hidden behind a scarf. Her look was sweet and innocent. Very beautiful, yes; but she seemed to have no great serving experience. She glanced at the tray not knowing what to do next, bitting her lip before looking at him as if she was expecting for him to tell her what to do.

 “My Lord Tyrion asked me to personally take care of you. He thought perhaps you'd like to share dinner with me.” She said as an apology, and then added looking at him with something mistrust-like, almost as if she were evaluating him. “And perhaps also...your bed.”

For a moment she looked at him in the eye without blinking. Studying his reaction. Then she looked down to the floor with shyness that Jaime doubted very much was real. However, she did seem genuinely surprised to hear him laugh outright.

“I can see that the years have done nothing to lessen the perversionsof your Lord Tyrion.” He sighed as the girl let go a funny giggle.

Jaime wonder if his brother was really happy sharing the bed with a different woman every night or if that attitude was still an answer to what happened with Tysha years ago. Again, the weight of the blame fell on his back making him feel tired. Terribly tired.

The girl approached to him with slow steps, with movements shy and inviting, but with the look of a lost lamb. Sweet and naïve: Tyrion’s type. Perhaps the girl had already experience with the Lannisters after all.

“What is your name?” He asked her stopping her hand when she approached with the intention of touching him.

The young girl seemed surprised; perhaps he had been too rough. He dropped her hand and the girl went back a step.

“Anya, my Lord.” She answered after a while, frowning.

“Anya,” he repeated, “you have no idea how much I’ll enjoy your company at the table, but I only share the bed with my wife.” he declared, as politely as he could.

The girl made a slight wince, but if her pride suffered some mortification with his negative, she recovered immediately. She took a seat before being invited and started eating some grapes very slowly. She didn’t make the lightest attempt to serve him. Judging from the beauty of her hands, the girl was not used to any kind of rough work. Those hands should belong to a Queen, or at least to a woman who lives to caress, but it didn't fit to a service girl.

 “The Lady Brienne is your wife, isn’t she?” The girl did not expect response; spat the grape seeds very elegantly and continued speaking. “I have heard that she is...” the girl hesitated a few seconds. “That she is not very beautiful.” She said with diplomacy.

Jaime could not contain a laugh. He sat next to the girl and served some wine in the glasses. The first sip left him savour too sweet for his taste, but nevertheless he still drank a little more before continuing.

“To say that my wife ‘ _is not very beautiful_ ’ is as much as say the sea is ‘ _not too dry_ ’.” Jaime recalled her with that surly face she put on every time he got her mad, with tense lips and wrinkled nose, but with the beautiful blue eyes lighting up her face. “Despite that, I know when my time comes it will be her face what I will be thinking about.

“You really must love her then.” Whispered the girl with suspicion.

“More than life itself.“ He said with sincerity. “But I had never before estimated much my life, so maybe you cannot have a good idea of what I feel for her.” Jaime said, although he seemed to speak for himself.

“But lady Brienne is so far away,” said Anya, making a new attempt to approach him, “and she doesn't have to know what happens here. What she ignores cannot harm her. Out of sight, out of mind…”

Displaying all the sensuality that her young and well-formed body could provide, the girl approached him. Surely she could not be so innocent if she offered herself to him with such insistence.

“It would be on  _my_  mind.” He pushed out the girl again, took a piece of bread and bit it more of habit than hunger. “That is a weight I don’t want on my conscience when I die. And she doesn’t deserve it.”

Anya looked at him strangely, crinkled his lips and returned to her place. She was too beautiful and shouldn’t be used to rejection. She was the opposite of Brienne.

He wondered for the thousandth time what she would be doing at that time. He imagined her fanning the fire before sitting down near the window, wrapped in that everyday life that he will never share again.

“If you love her so much, why didn’t she come with you? Lord Tyrion said you refused to bring her to your judgment.” Anya gave small sips to her drink.

Under the dim light of the only two candles in the cell, her light-colored eyes followed each one of his movements with curiosity.

“She has already gone through more than anyone should suffer in a lifetime. I don’t want to force her to watch her husband being beheaded.”

Jaime left the bread on the table and dragging the chain on his ankle he dropped in bed with both arms behind his head. He wanted to protect her, give her a better life and avoid her a greater sorrow. He wanted to make her happy, even if that meant letting her go.

 “Are you afraid, ser Jaime?” It had been so long since the last time someone call him so, that he had to look again at the girl. “The Queen has spent so many time asking for your head, that it is certain she will not let you go alive. Are you afraid to die?” She asked him again with interest.

He sighed before answering. Most of his life he had bluffed with the idea of not fearing death. But there was no merit in that because he had never felt alive at all. He had always deemed death as his only way out of a life he had not voluntarily chosen. Now, it was different, he was not afraid to die, but to stop living. Expressed so it didn't have logic. Even if he found the idea reasonable, he doubted someone else, except Brienne, could understand that.

 “I was afraid to leave behind the things that I care about.” He answered at last. “But I already did that, so dying cannot be more difficult than that.”

There was a moment of silence. He looked at the ceiling with disinterest, and when he tried to straighten the bed crunched outrageously. Anya laughed funny, taking the chance of ending the tense moment.

“I guess this cell must be horrible to you. Everyone says the Lannisters are so rich and live with so much luxury that even their latrines are made of gold.”

Actually, what Jaime had heard was that Tywin Lannister shitted gold. But years ago his brother took the job of demystifying that fact and make clear to all Westeros, his father’s gastrointestinal system worked just like everyone, and had the same ability to generate shit as everybody else.

To Jaime Lannister luxury had always been a disguise. A mask that could make him feel envied. Through luxury he could hide the sad fact he felt jealous even of the humblest beggar, because he, among his misery, was free and master of his destiny.

With all sincerity he could assure he didn’t miss nor luxury or comfort. What he really missed was the chance to go anywhere without watching his back, change his name or try to modify his appearance. He missed having a place to call home, one that he didn’t have to leave when someone suspicious turn out.

 “The last place I lived in was not much better than this.” He declared; Anya opened her eyes wide in surprise. “Remember I'm just a fallen Lannister, kid; a humble citizen of Essos who have to work hard to earn his living. He looked around analytically. “Although I had more furniture and the bed was much more comfy.”

He sighed dramatically. He really missed his bed, and above all, missed the things that happened on it, especially what had happened that last night. Each drop of blood that ran through his body was imprinted with the memories ofthefinal night with his wife. He could not say if it had been just as memorable to Brienne, who had not been aware it was that their last time together, but he had really loved it and had tried to memorize every moment, every touch, every kiss, every gasp of pleasure, each freckle caressed by his fingers.

Anya sat by his side and winced when she checked that the bed was indeed hard and uncomfortable.

 “What did you do for living?” The girl asked, struggling to find a comfortable position.

Jaime lay down. The list was not long. Brienne and he were forced to pass unnoticed and keep a low profile, something that was hard to do when they were together. A handless man and a giant woman were so easy to notice as the midday sun. However, the last thing that they were willing to do was being apart from each other.

Jaime had suggested her several times to return to Tarth with her father, he had asked her even before leaving Westeros, but she didn’t want hear about it. She was his wife and her duty was being at his side. Jaime thanked her, although he would have been happier if she had not used the word  _duty_  to emphasize the strength of her decision. In spite of that, for a long time, she seemed to be happy, laughed and argued with the usual enthusiasm. At that time they would have never considered being far away from each other.

At the beginning, when they still had some gold, they rented a small orchard and struggled to make it produce. The wench seemed to be cursed and her mere presence was enough to waste even the wild grass. After a few moons both of them were so tired of horticulture that after getting rid of the orchard they spent weeks without eating any kind of vegetable.

Jaime used to make fun of Brienne assuring her that, if she looked intensely at her spinach plate, they would turn to dust even though they were already cooked. She looked at him with a sour gesture, turned his spoon into a catapult and he ended up with half of the aforementioned spinaches on his face. Then she laughed and cleaned him up mixing kisses on his lips with punches on his ribs.

After that they tried their luck trading with spices and other items. Profits were good and they did not draw too much attention to themselves, but they were bored to death doing that.

However, it was thanks to trade that they found something that both of them enjoyed and made them truly happy. One of his contacts, after losing all his capital at Volantis offered them to pay his debt with a beautiful pair of breeding horses. The stallion only worth more than twice what the man owed them and, delighted, Jaime agreed. In a very short time they acquired two more mares and everything was blooming.

It was gratifying to see the foals growing up knowing that they would not see them die with a lance crossed through the neck or slaughtered with the legs broken. Of course, it was very likely that the animals would suffer a similar fate still, but neither he nor Brienne would be there to witness it. They could even name all their breeding animals and be unafraid to attach to them and then losing the animals...

Or at least they thought so.

“Was that what you were doing before coming here to give yourself in?” Inquired the girl, smiling when she realized the enthusiasm with which he spoke of the animals.

 “No. One day we heard about a man that had arrived from Westeros asking too many questions,” he stated with bitterness, “we had to sell everything and leave the city”.

The wench had pretended not to give greater importance to the problem and acted tough, but Jaime knew perfectly that behind her mask of indifference she cried for the life that she had already come to love and for those animals which were practically part of their family, for the quiet cottage near the stable, for the cosy fireplace and for all the memories that they were about to leave again. Despite that, she was the first to persuade him that they had to leave without losing time. She did not hesitate even for a moment, and when they once again found themselves riding aimlessly and with a few coins in the bag, she was smiling.

They had just spent a couple of weeks trying to settle down on the outskirts of a small village near Pentos when the wench began to fell apart. She became quiet, absent, almost didn't eat, and showed no interest in anything nor allowed him to be close to her. She turned into a stranger, a shadow of who she had been. Even her health began to deteriorate.

And then he also began to crumble because he couldn’t find any way to get her back to him. She was slipping from his hand like water through his fingers. Without her, he was as lost as a piece of cork in the middle of the ocean. He tried to find something to offer her, to save her. When each of his attempts failed, he understood that was just the beginning of the end. Although that end did not come for the reasons he originally imagined.

Jaime closed his eyes for a long time, so long that the girl, surely believing him asleep, rose of the bed and approached the door with an amazing stillness.

“Thank you for the company, Anya.” Said Jaime when she knocked at the door so that the guard could let her go.

“Can I return another day, if my Lord wants someone to talk with.” Suggested shyly.

“I’d like that.” Jaime agreed with more enthusiasm than he cared to admit.

Any company was nice, anything that could prevent him to swallow his memories in loneliness.


	4. Night 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thanks again to Lauralina for all her help with this chapter.

# 4\. Night 8

 

It was the second game of sitrang that they were playing that afternoon and Jaime didn’t feel his skill or appreciation for the game were growing. Tyrion, effortlessly, seemed to guess each of his moves three or four times before he even had the chance to actually do them, and always put him on a situation impossible to revert since the beginning of the game.

Both of them had reached a kind of tacit agreement and whenever one of them felt tempted to touch one of theirs taboo subjects, the other lead the conversation toward safer paths.

A serving boy —Anya had not returned since their first meeting— arrived with another bottle of wine and immediately assisted Tyrion. Jaime had just given a couple of sips to his glass.

The table in which they were playing was large, with comfortable and tasteful armchairs. His new chamber was spacious, well lighted and had a large fireplace that kept him so warm as if he were at home. Even the bed was so soft that he could bounce on it if he let himself fell with force.

The chain on his ankle had also disappeared, but he still had a couple of guards standing by his door because, after all, he was still the Kingslayer: a man with no honor.

It seemed illogical, but the change of bed had disturbed him. The previous was uncomfortable, right, but small and he had slept well in it. This one was too big. So large, that the empty half beside him didn't allow him to sleep. He stretched his hand and his fingers didn’t find others to link with. There was no other body to stop him when he rolled on. Who could sleep that way?

On the deepest of the night, in that limbo created exactly between vigil and unconsciousness of sleep, Jaime could feel Brienne at his side. He could swear that the mattress curved by her weight; could feel her breath on his face and their knees colliding. He could even listen to those soft purrs that the wench exhaled while she stretched her ridiculously long body and attempted to wake up.

After losing the hand, Jaime had experienced the sensation of still having it. He felt his fingers; he was sure that he could move them and even could feel the nails in the palm when he clenched the inexistent fist. "Phantom limb" Qyburn had called the sensation. He assured to him the effect was frequent in all types of amputations and would disappear after some moons. And indeed, it did.

When Jaime felt so alive the presence of his wife on the other side of the bed, he recalled that feeling. She had also been amputated of his life and instead only remained a ghost that he couldn’t touch. Each morning, when he woke up, he ran to the window and wondered if she would also have a ghost to share her bed with. But now his window didn’t face the sea and without that connection he felt her more far away than ever.

 

A couple of days ago a guard had come to remove his ankle chain. With more consideration that anybody had shown to him, the man asked that he follow him.

Jaime couldn’t help to feel certain nervousness thinking that he finally would go to face the Queen, but his hopes —if it could be called that— were soon frustrated. He was been taken to what should have been a guest’s room. Later he received some very good quality changes of clothes. That was a decent treatment for one of the lesser Lannister, definitely much more than what a common prisoner deserved.

He began to understand the true influence of Tyrion at the Court. He didn’t dare to hold out any hope regarding his life, but perhaps...

“I suppose should that I should thank you for the improvements of the last days.” He said, referring to the new room and also to Anya’s company, even when he had not enjoyed it as his brother originally planned.

“No. You shouldn’t.” Tyrion replied bluntly, made his move with tedium before giving another sip to his drink.

He spent a long time tasting the wine before continuing with the conversation.

“A few days ago, I received a letter from Myrcella.” He told him with indifference, but looking at him from the corner of the eye, evaluating his reaction.

Jaime had tried to be closer to his daughter and that failure still was painful to him. He had written to her several letters that she did not answer. In the last one, before heading to the North, he suggested the idea of going to visit her to Dorne and she politely thanked for his concern but asked him to keep his distance. She didn’t address to him as his father nor even as his uncle. Her cold 'ser Jaime' made it clear she didn’t desire any kind of relationship with him.

Tommen and Cersei had died during the taking of King’s Landing, so the only family left to him was the one that he had with Brienne. And still he wasn't sure about Tyrion.

“Is she happy?” From his own experience he knew that was the key question to get to know how a person really was feeling. He didn't mind if she had power or wealth, Jaime only wanted to know if she loved and was loved, if she felt safe.

"Judging by the way she writes, I would say yes, but..."

Jaime stopped pretending he was planning his next move and that the life of Myrcella wasn’t among his priorities. Until Tyrion replied he found himself absurdly looking for a way to help her if it was necessary, but considering his situation the idea was so absurd that he had to laugh at his own stupidity. So typical of the Kingslayer, evade the responsibility of being close to his children when he had the chance, and wanted to do it when it was out of his reach.

"You were about to become a grandfather," Tyrion paused to give a greater effect to his words and waited until Jaime looked at him in the eye before continuing. “Unfortunately she had some complications and suffered a miscarriage."

The news surprised him. Even knowing that Myrcella had been married for a long time he never imagined becoming a grandfather; he neither had imagined being a father, though. And being honest, in fact he had never been one.

Cersei had left him to get her pregnant three times. Three times she allowed another man to legitimate his children; Joffrey, Myrcela nor Tommen never had a real father. He didn’t bother to participate in their education, neither Robert did.

It was hard for him to admit that each time Cersei didn't allow him to approach their children he felt relieved. Of course, he had no idea how take care of a child. His only close example, his own father, was not a role model to be follow. His high expectations for him made him feel frustrated, and the low expectations that Tywin had for Tyrion became his brother into a bitter man. And Cersei... she never represented more than a coin.

When he listened to Brienne and Sansa speak of their fathers, he imagined that Selwyn and Ned should be a good example to follow, because in their voices there was no hidden fear or angst, but respect, love and admiration.

Years ago, he had vowed, that if life granted him a new chance, he would put effort to imitate those men and be a father with all the rights and obligations that were implied.

Destiny, however, had always done its best to make fun of all Jaime's good intentions, twist them or turn them into a dead end.

"Is she ok now?" He asked staring at his stump, as he did whenever any of his past mistakes exploded in his face.

"A little sad, but she is very young. She will get over it sooner than you think." Said Tyrion with confidence.

Yes, Jaime knew that women get over to that. Eventually they would smile again, to make plans, they would move on.

At least they did in appearance.

He recalled his last days on the wall.

In a rare moment of good sense, when the menace that haunted all Westeros from the North threatened to not leave any realm to fight for, all decided to join forces to end the common enemy before to continue to annihilate each other. Dragons and armies achieved a victory, but nobody felt with the mood to celebrate. The loose of lives were too many and the nightmare was still too close to feel safe.

They all just had spent a few days licking wounds like injured animals would do, when someone informed them that part of the Targaryen army was heading for Castle Black. After taking King's Landing on their way towards North, Daenerys Targaryen was —in practice at least— the one who ruled over all Westeros. Jaime was not so naive to believe that what he had done on the Wall would be enough to obtain the pardon of the new Queen, who surely had spent all her life dreaming of having his head stuck on a pike or, considering their family’s fondness for the fire, see him consumed up to the bones in the middle of a valyrian bonfire.

At that time the decision he had to make would have been easier if his crazy impulses didn’t have Brienne tied to him. He knew, without the need to ask, that the honor and loyalty of the wench would be even stronger than the vows pronounced before a Septon and she would stubbornly insist on share his destiny, whatever this could be.

Even so, he begged her to return alone to Tarth. She refused. Crossed arms, wrinkled forehead and sour gesture, the wench reminded him that, _as his wife_ , his duty was to stay by his side.

Then Jaime, _as her husband_ , ordered her to come back home with her father, and Brienne laughed before turning away and began to prepare their mounts to depart towards Eastwatch without delay. Surprisingly he felt that he was falling in love with her once again.

They rode for nearly two days just resting a few hours and almost without eating. When they arrived at the port and luckily found a merchant ship that was about to leave for Lorath, they were already half frozen, exhausted, starving and willing to board any ship, even if its destination was one of the seven Hells.

The ship, although of a good size, seemed to have more years than the Wall itself, and by the way that was cracking when they boarded it, Jaime feared they would wrecked before dawn. The ship’s captain was a thin and dark man who, like his ship, seemed about to break if the wind blew a bit more, but he assured them, with a confidence that verged on pedantry, that his ship would continue sailing until the narrow sea was dry.

Despite the captain’s optimism, the disaster came, although not in the way of a shipwreck as Jaime had feared.

Hardly a few hours after they lost sight of the coast, Brienne insisted on resting in the tiny cabin they had assigned. If Jaime hadn’t know that his wife was born and raised on an island and was as used to the sea as to breathe, he would have assumed that the constant swaying of the ship was playing a dirty trick on her. She was sweating, her skin white as snow. Just a few steps from the bed, Jaime had to hold her before she could fall. He hardly had time to lay her down when she began to bleed profusely. There was no maester on board and the presence of the captain's wife was not really required to confirm them that she had just suffered a miscarriage.

Brienne simply nodded stoically and let the improvised midwife attended to her. Later, in complete silence, allowed Jaime to lay by her side. She buried her head on his chest and remained thus for hours, without crying, without saying a word, almost without moving, leaving him caress her hair, while the waves lulled them gently as their only palliative.

 Jaime never knew if her subsequent paleness was only due to the loose of blood, to the sadness of the child they had lost, relief, or for the uncertainty for what waited for them on the other side of the sea.

On the other hand, he was never sure of what he had felt. Until then he had not been aware of Brienne’s condition. He had no chance to feel hope or to worry and his memories about those days were filled with the anxiety caused ~~to him~~ by the idea that she could not recover or, eventually, that she began to accuse him for their lost child. Cowardly he never asked her how she felt about what had happened.

Jaime could live without children, without a hand, without his white cloak, without Casterly Rock, gold or properties, without family or friends; but without her, he did not have any reason left to go on, of that much he was sure.

At dawn, her first words as she watched sunset were: "We are safe now". Jaime knew better than that, they would never be safe again. But he also knew she needed to hold on to that naive hope and he, still holding her strongly in his arms, nodded.

They never talked again about what happened. Time passed and Brienne never got pregnant again and they assumed, without saying so in words, she had become barren after what happened on the ship. If one of them had wished for children they just gave up to that hope in silence and without any reproach. They had other things to be grateful for. She did not stop repeating they would be safe far away from Westeros, and innocently believed that until that first time they were forced to flee.

He was deeply grateful for his wife had recovered her health so quickly, even if he kept that thought for him. His wench was strong; she had proved to him on countless occasions, and he also felt grateful for that.

Many times, when he found her caressing one of the newborn foals, Jaime wondered if she was thinking of their unborn child. Did she mourn for the lost or tough that what had happened as a more compassionate fate? Because, after all, what kind of life might have that kid? Doomed to flee from one place to another without ever having a place that he or she could call home. However, Jaime frequently was dreaming of his children. With Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and also with that little one who did not have the chance to born.

Perhaps Brienne also dreamed of his child, with plump hands and a pair of sapphire blue eyes, with a laugh that got inside her head so deep that made impossible to wonder if the dream was a blessing or a curse. Sometimes Jaime wanted to talk to her about it, but then he thought that maybe if the wound was already closed, would be cruel to reopen it.

“You could write to her. She has asked me a couple of times for you...” Tyrion confessed, talking about Myrcella.

Jaime shook his head. He was convinced that the best he could do for his daughter was respect her will and keep her away from the bad reputation of the Kingslayer.

 “I think she was very clear on wanting nothing to do with me. And she’s right.” He tried to sound disinterested.

 “You should not give up so fast.”

Jaime could not avoid a snort. Considering his head was almost touching the edge of the axe, it seemed to him that 'fast' was not the proper word to be used. However, Tyrion wasn't the first person to give him that advice. “Brienne told me the same thing when Myrcella refused to receive me in Dorne.”

“You married a smart woman.” The little man said, making his key move with a gesture of boredom.

“Well, she must have some fault. Otherwise, she would have never married to me.” Jaime joked, watching distractedly the board and moving his piece without much analysis. “When this is over, make her know that I would have liked to be a better father to —her.” He added after a while.

Tyrion nodded swallowing hard. “I’m sure, somehow, she already knows.” Reassured him Tyrion.

Jaime smiled bitterly. He would have liked so much to be a better father for all his children.

With Joffrey, he never had the chance. He died being a stranger to him, a stranger that he came to despise, but that was something he could only confessed to himself and to Brienne.

With Tommen he had no time. When he first learned of his and Cersei’s death he was weeks away. The official version was that a traitor had infiltrated in the fortress and poisoned both of them. Jaime was sure that the death came from the same hand of Cersei, who once knowing they were lost, chose to become her own executioner and offer an equal fate to her only living son. The little and plump Tommen, with his sweet eyes and his cats.

He could not blame Myrcella for holding a grudge to him, for trying to forget him along with all the humiliations suffered after becoming public her true origin.

It was true that in his youth Jaime had never dreamed of being a father. But, eventually, he had come to desire to be a man capable to warrant the well being of the children he had already fathered. Unfortunately, no matter how he played, life was determined to not let him win that game.

 “You lose again.” Said Tyrion after making his final play, with an almost prophetic tone.

Jaime smiled with sorrow.


	5. Night 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 now edited thanks to Lauralina!

# 5\. Night 9

“This really is a very nice chamber.” Said Anya, the first time that she went through the room. “The Queen is a very generous person, my Lord”.

 “I did not expect being treated so kindly, I have to admit.” Accepted Jaime, while the girl was still supervising every detail of the room. “Although...” Anya then stopped and looked at him raising her eyebrows almost offended. “Although,” continued Jaime, “I think this generosity is a sign of appreciation towards my brother. But that also speaks well of your queen.” Concluded Jaime.

 “Why? Because your brother is a Lannister?” Asked the young girl with her arms crossed over the chest and a very arrogant tone.

Jaime was amused by the girl’s attitude. She obviously felt great loyalty towards her queen and that also spoke well of Daenerys. Aerys inspired terror among his servants and close advisors, not respect or loyalty.

Anya was nice. He guessed Tyrion should like her too. Surely he would find very funny that insolence disguised as shyness and probably that was the reason he sent her to him.

 “No, not for being a Lannister, but because Tyrion is a smart man. Be close to smart people and let them advise you is a prove of good sense.”

 “Your father was also King Aerys’ Hand and they not ended up well.” Said Anya in a gloomy tone.

“No,” Jaime sighed with regret, his father was an extraordinarily skilled and capable man, but proud and inflexible and Aerys... better don’t think about him. "But they lacked of something Tyrion and your queen do have: justice and compassion.”

Then Anya relaxed her arms and for a long time she studied him until she seemed convinced of his sincerity. Then she looked down to the floor.

“The queen is a compassionate person;” she assured him. “At least, it seems to me that she tries to be; but I don't think her compassion would allow her to spare your live, my Lord...”

There was some sadness in the girl’s voice, with made Jaime to thank her with a smile, as Anya still with her head down, placed herself in a place next to him by the table.

 “I came here to die, kid. I do not ask or hope the compassion of your queen. I just want to believe that she will be fair with my wife and will leave her out of any quarrel she has with me.”

Somehow, his words sounded almost like a prayer. And he had lost faith so long ago that the idea seemed ridiculous.

“I am sure that the queen won’t harm Lady Brienne.” Said the girl with confidence. “Even if you and Lord Tywin didn’t have the same generosity towards her father and the rest of her family.” Anya accused him.

 “I would have given my life to save Rhaegar’s.” Snapped Jaime offended.

Jaime went to the window and remembered that strange man who held more fondly his harp than his sword. For some reason he always remembered him singing or playing an instrument and not wielding a weapon. Sometimes he thought of what would have happened if Tywin had succeeded in trying to marry Rhaegar to Cersei. She would have fallen in love, they could have been happy. He, of course, would have searched the death in every damn battle until he found it. But at least a couple of wars would have been avoided. Everything would have been so different.

He would have never known Brienne. He would never…

 “But you did kill her father... Of the four kings that my Lord served, you killed one and left the rest die.” The voice of Anya took him out of his sad reflections.

Two of those Kings had been his children, and one would have been a bigger threat to the realm as Aerys. Would he have had the courage of ending Joffrey’s life as he had done with Aerys? That question still made him shiver.

The girl looked at him with insolence and her accusatory gesture suddenly exacerbated him. Jaime had seen that look before, when he was six years old and the maester in charge of his education disciplined him and forced him to spend long hours standing and reciting the recent history of each major House of Westeros. He endured the surly man's gaze and punishment, because he knew, that if his father heard about his disobedience, he would be forced to spend a whole afternoon listening the high expectations everybody had for the future Lord of the Rock, and how Jaime was remained far below it.

But he wasn’t a child anymore and had no need to justify himself to a service girl, no matter how amiable she could be. As lonely as he felt, would not allow anyone to judge him. Not even Daenerys Targaryen, he would accept her verdict, but he would not give her any explanation.

“It’s late. I think you should go.” He said with the colder and more _Lannister_ tone he could find.

For a moment the girl looked confused, and she stood up and gave a couple of faltering steps towards the door. But thenshe came back and returned to her place.

 “I'm sorry, my Lord. I didn't want to offend you. I was just repeating what people say. It was not my intention to judge you.” Jaime did not bother to look at her; he was tired of people judging him without even trying to know his reasons. Suddenly, loneliness not seemed unpleasant at all.

Jaime lay down in the bed hoping that the girl would understand the hint and leave him alone at once. She didn’t, and slowly approached the table and began to sniff the food with the eyes of a kid in front of a tray of lemon cakes.

 “Would my Lord be bother if I eat something before I go?” She asked humbly.

He shrugged and the girl didn't wait for another invitation. She took a seat, served a small portion on her plate and began to eat slowly. Jaime hardly saw her eating a few bites before he began to feel sleepy; Anya’s slow and studied movements caused him a deep drowsiness that he did not try to fight.

“You are right, the Queen appreciates your brother very much and that’s another reason for you to remain calm, Lady Brienne will not suffer any damage, I am sure that the Queen will respect her.”

“That is the only thing that matters to me.” He said, with his eyes closed. “The only thing that matters.”

 “I suppose your wedding must’ve been a very big event.” Murmured Anya, Jaime was no longer sure if he was awake. His memories did not need any extra encouragement to come to him, sleep or awake; they were always strong and vivid.

“No, I am afraid that our wedding was far from being the event of the season.”  He smiled with melancholy. “We got married at the Wall. Before a battle and we thought that our marriage would only last a few hours.”

Dream or memory, he suddenly found himself reviving that afternoon. Standing in front of the septon, as he said his vows and tried very hard to ignore the fact that those were his last hours. He only had to concentrate on Briennes’s eyes and anything else lost importance.

He knew that few people were loyal to him, of course, no one as fiercely as Brienne. He was sure she respected him, and her care for him was beyond gratitude, but until that day he did not understand that she was also afraid of losing him.

Everyone knew the wench was his ‘right-hand man’. She was his second in command and his firmer supporter, whether in the battlefield or at the time of taking decisions. She was always by his side taking the place of his missing right hand.

However, during the last meeting the wench was making gestures, murmuring and finding faults to everything he said. The rest of the men began to hide giggles and mocking looks that Brienne seemed delighted to encourage by contradicting him openly.

Yes, the plan was something more than risky. Whatever way you approach it, it was a suicidal mission, but it was the only thing they could do to keep the danger away from Eastwatch and allow reinforcements to disembark without being slaughtered before their feet touch land.

Before he could finish explaining the plan the wench tighten her lips, left the council chamber with a hurricane’s force and slammed the door. Jaime was forced to remain impassive.

 “I think, gentlemen, our Lady is dealing with some difficult days and we’ll have to carry on without her.” He tried to joke, and after getting some forced laughter he continued refining the final details.

He made it until the meeting’s final suppressing the desires of going after her to shake her and put her in her place. That behavior was completely unusual on her. She was usually the first to support him, even during those first days when everyone heard him with suspicion and were against his plans.

It had taken him a few moons to gain the confidence of those men, and he wasn't willing to let anyone, not even Brienne, destroyed all his work.

He was the first to leave the council chamber and without a second thought went out to look for her, while he explored halls and chambers all his false tranquility left him, and when he remembered the way in which she had faced him in front of all his men, the fury invaded him again. She, better than anybody, must know how important was to have the respect and confidence of the people under his command during a battle. Her behavior was totally inexcusable.

When he finally found her, he already felt the desire to leave her hanging from the top of the Wall for a few hours. Especially when he noticed that she was also looking at him with anger and that she was about to explode. That was already bordering the limits of madness.

 “Who, by the seven hells, do you think you are to disobey me like this?” He roared taking her by the arm with such force that the wench turned around by the same impulse.

She had the freckled face red of fury and he almost could hear her teeth grinding.

 “I won't support such stupidity and neither allow you underestimate me in front of everyone.” She yelled releasing her arm before shoving him against the wall with all her strength.

The shove made him hit his elbow and the pair of ribs that were still sore from the previous battle. He thanked the pain, physical pain was easy to control, it helped him to clear his mind and get focus.

“I gave a damn order and you are going to obey it, if you want to remain here. Otherwise take your belongings and get out _right now_. It’s your decision.” Unlike her, he did not yell, but never, even during their first encounter, he had spoken to her so coldly.

For a brief moment she seemed surprised, hurt even; however, she recovered immediately and returned to face him.

“I am as capable as any of the men you chose to go, and I am complete... that makes me more able than you. Why do I have to stay here?” She tried to moderate his tone but did not dare to look at him in the eye. “You're going to go at the front, aren’t you?” Of course, although she had left the meeting before he informed who would be in charge of the mission, Brienne had known that since it was Jaime the one that suggested the idea. “Let me go with you.” She begged him, finally surrendering.

“I cannot order my men to do something I am not capable to do.” He explained lowering his voice. “And I need you here in my absence. I need someone who has all my confidence to take care of things if I do not return. Do you understand that?”

He took her hand, this time with kindness, but she tried to get away. It was then that Jaime got it. She was scared, she was afraid for him. All his anger had vanished.

The wench was right, she was much more capable than most of the men he had at his command. He had seen her many times in combat and knew what was able to do; however, at that moment Brienne was only a young girl, vulnerable and insecure.

She tightened her lips and quickly wiped a rebel tear that unauthorized slipped by her cheek. She nodded reluctantly.

He had never noticed how long and blondes were her eyelashes. He was already so close to her that in the midst of an outburst and without even thinking about it, he grabbed her wrist while he kissed her with tenderness that overflowed him.

And she kissed him back. At the beginning with clumsiness and insecurity, but then her enthusiasm was intensified to the point she seemed unable to breathe if her lips were not glued to his. Jaime had fantasized about the idea of having her between his arms for so long that before he could notice they were already in his chamber, awkwardly taking off their clothes and cursing each time they were forced to separate their lips.

She quickly overcame the shyness, perhaps because she understood that they had very little time for that. There were no explanations or fervent declarations. The promises were a luxury they could not afford and they have so little time that losing a second seemed a sin that none of the Seven could forgive them.

Jaime would have wished to spend hours studying and memorizing her body, testing it with calm and, after a long analysis, choose his favorite spot to kiss her and find the exact places that could make her shudder. But life has just given him a few minutes and he wasn't willing to waste time lamenting what could no longer be. He made that every second count for both of them, and yet he blessed his fate for granted him that last wish.

Barely a couple of hours later they returned to the council chamber hand in hand, smiling and ignoring the mocking eyes of the few men that still remained there. Jaime assigned the latest missions and gave a couple more of orders until gradually he and Brienne were left alone again.

Jaime would leave early in the morning, and everyone had left eager to make the most of that could easily be their last hours of life. Wine had begun to run abundantly hours before, while they were still receiving orders. The dining room awaited them with the best banquet that could be expected with their limited resources.

 “Let's eat something, wench,” he said, scrolling the latest maps before taking her by the waist and looking at her as if he were about to undress her again. “You left me exhausted.” He whispered in her ear.

He nosed her neck just to be sure to have left her well impregnated with his aroma. He nibbled her earlobe only to left engrave her taste in his mind and he smiled warm and happy when she blushed to the root of the hair. He kissed her gently, without haste, daydreaming with the idea that he could continue to do so for many more years to come.

Jaime had always ensured he only felt fully alive when was in the middle of a battle or in bed. Now he deemed himself the luckiest men on Westeros because he could share both experiences with the same woman, with _his_ woman.

“No. I prefer to attend the Septon’s service before.” She confessed, almost embarrassed that someone might guess she was eager to pray for him. Pray for a miracle that could make him come back to her safely.

Jaime didn’t believe that praying to the gods would be effectlier on a battle than a good sword, but he also understood the kind of comfort that could provide a little bit of spirituality, the peace of mind of believing that the Gods approved and blessed each decision taken.

 “Let’s go together then.” He held her hand as she smiled in a sweet and naïve way.

Jaime knew he had failed many times at the moment of taking the best choice, but as he walked hand in hand with Brienne, he was also sure that the Gods, if they even existed at all, had send this woman into his life to finally point him out the right path.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the Hall and before she could imitate him he made the decision.

 “Marry me.” She opened her mouth, but failed to articulate any sound. “Right now”.

He did not need to argue that it was certain that they wouldn't have any more occasions. It was implied that their chances of survival were few and, above all, he wished that his relationship with her, no matter how short it could be, were not a clandestine one.

She did not hesitate; after all, the damage to her reputation of being the Kingslayer’s respectable widow couldn’t be worst than being his mistress. She nodded slightly, and she almost looked pretty at the moment.

At the end of the world, in the middle of the night, with a ragged septon and a borrowed cloak, Brienne of Tarth became his wife, and her only wedding gift was the certainty that she could become also his widow in a few more hours.

Still now, he remembered how distracted he had been during the ceremony. For some reason all his attention was focused in the hand of Brienne holding his, tied to his. It seemed amazing that a hand so rough could be at once so gentle and provide such soft and delicate caress. The septon had to cleared his throat and ask him twice to say his vows because he could not remove the eyes of their intertwined hands. She smiled, seemed happy as a peasant bride in love and waiting excited the start of her new life.

The septon ended the ceremony and announced them they were officially husband and wife. However, Jaime did not quite feel it so. He had not felt that she really belong completely to him earlier, when she gave herself to him for the first time.

The few men who attended as witnesses, clapped and whistled while they kissed. If they were surprised or did not approve what was happening they all dissimulated very well and congratulated them with enthusiasm. After all, he had been stripped of his white cloak a long time ago and his presence in the Wall was merely voluntary.

Miraculously, three days after he returned from the mission; wounded and tired but alive. She attended his wounds and then lay beside him. They spent the night embraced; he was too sore and weak to do anything else. The next morning when he woke up, Brienne was still by his side, in his arms. Drowsy she opened her eyes and greeted him with an almost childlike smile.

 “I love you, my lady wife.” He greeted her back, removing part of the straw-colored hair that covered her eyes.

"And I love you, my lord husband.” She answered in the middle of a sigh, before approaching to him with renewed shyness."

Just then he felt she was really his wife.

Jaime did not open his eyes until the next morning. Anya and the leftovers of the meal were not in the room anymore.


	6. Night 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 Edited too! =)

### 6\. Night 11

 

Jaime tried hard to remember. The image of a skinny, freckled and small girl, dark eyes, reddish hair, small teeth, but contagious smile and fine features came to his memory. The girl could not have more than thirteen years old, but, at that age, to her the eleven years of Tyrion must made him look like a small child and the fifteen of Ser Roman's squire surely made him look like a grown man in the girl’s eyes.

That was the first time that Tyrion ever felt a greater interest to someone of the opposite sex person rather than a book. The girl, of course, sighed whenever the squire passed by her side but paid to Tyrion no more attention than she did to the dust in her shoes.

The girl was the daughter, granddaughter, or niece of a second class Lord to the Lannisters’ service, but by the importance she gave herself anyone would have thought she was the heiress to the throne. Tyrion looked at her with dissimulation and even when he tried to pretend disinterest, Jaime only needed a couple of hours to realize his younger brother had finally discovered women.

“She was very pretty.” Said Tyrion staring absently to the roof, Jaime didn’t even try to tell him otherwise. “But she continued sighing for that squire until the day the gods made him shit in his pants in the middle of a tournament award ceremony.” Tyrion smiled maliciously.

“The gods received some help.” Jaime confessed. “It cost me one of my best saddles to find someone able to get results at the appropriate time.”

For a few seconds Tyrion looked at him with disbelief, then he laughed and Jaime did not hesitate to join him.

“The kid needed some humbleness.” Said Tyrion. “I must have suspected since then that the gods would never be so fair.” Jaime nodded pretentiously. Slowly the smile blurred of the face of Tyrion. “And also I should have known that my older brother would be so interested in my love life.” He added with a cold voice and a stern gesture.

Jaime sighed weary. He knew that at some point the truce between him and Tyrion would end and the thorny issues would replace the happy childhood memories. He looked at his brother and the wounded expression of his eyes did not foretell him anything good. The pain was still present.

He looked for refuge from his brother’s gaze staring at the most distant point on the ceiling.

“If I had known what our father intended to do I would have never allowed it.”

Tyrion snorted loudly.

“What could have I thought? She had just met you for a couple of hours and she married you! I thought I was doing the best thing for you, I thought that I was protecting you. But I swear I had no idea of what my father had planned for the girl.”

One of the men had told him how more than twenty of his father's guards had raped the girl and then he even gloated on the fact that he himself had done it twice, Jaime could not believe that had been done under his father’s commands. He didn't want to hear anymore, and he slapped the man and, without thinking about, went to his father, thinking stupidly that those could not be his orders. But, displeased, Tywin Lannister just looked at him and reminded him, once again, that Tyrion needed a lesson. He never refused that it had been his idea.

“Tysha.” Tyrion roared, standing up suddenly. “Her name was Tysha.”

“You can’t really believe that I would have agreed to something like that. You can’t believe that…

His voice was a mixture of plea and disbelief, disappointment and frustration. The image of Tyrion as a child came to his mind with a startling clarity. When he was four years and he stumbled often and clung to his knee to hold on. At his seven years, when he bothered him with all sort of questions about tournaments, horses and dragons; or at nine, when it was he the one that sought Tyrion out looking for a distraction with his childish talk and forget all the recent horrors of Aerys. Some times, Tyrion annoyed him, mostly when what he really wanted was to be alone with Cersei; but once satisfied his desire he always found a way to reward his brother for those moments of abandonment. A gift or spending a day in the forest always seemed sufficient for Tyrion.

It was possible that boy that idolized him and saw him as if he were the hero of a song was the same man that now believed him capable of doing something so cruel to hurt him?

He stared him in the eye until it was Tyrion who turned his gaze.

“So, do you still hate me?” Asked Jaime finally, afraid of the answer.

“I wanted revenge.” He agreed, sitting down again, but with the voice quiet and serene. “I wanted to find a way to hurt you as much as you had hurt me. I wanted to see you suffer, but I think that I never actually hated you.

Jaime didn't know what to think of that, however he was convinced that his brother’s desire of revenge had been fully satisfied.

“Dear brother, you can consider yourself avenged now.” He accepted smiling, as if he had just lost a game of cards and not his whole life.

“Don't be an idiot.” He snapped in bad way. Since you left I've been watching your back. I lost your trail a year ago, when you left Braavos. I thought both of you were fine. Even their business with the horses seemed to prosper. If I had known you were planning make this stupid thing... I thought you were happy…” He repeated confused.

“We were.” Jaime said. “I was.” He added more cautiously.

Of course they endured some hardships, nothing serious, considering that both had survived months in the North, in the road, captive and hungry. They quarreled a lot, but Jaime suspected if they did that so frequently and over such a silly things, was because both of them were kind of addicts to reconciliations. They had moments of silence and bad dreams, but even before leaving Braavos holding hands was enough to escape them.

As soon as they settled near Pentos, the last home they shared, everything changed. She didn’t let him approach to her. Their longest conversations were not more than ten words long and she wasn't even able to look at him in the eyes. She had nightmares that he wasn't already able to chase away. It took him almost three moons to summon the courage to accept the inevitable.

*

He threw a couple more of logs to the chimney before running his eyes through the room. It seemed cozy to him, small, but comfortable and with everything they needed. There was no way to compare it with the amenities of Casterly Rock and Evenfall, but he was sure that he had never been completely happy at the Rock and despite her father's love, he doubted very much that Brienne had been happy in Tarth's castle.

However, when he finished to fuel the fire and looked at her, he had the certainty that, at the time, the wench was not happy. Few times he had seen her so quiet and distracted. Throughout the day she had hardly eaten a bit of cheese and only under the threat of force her if she didn't do it willingly.

"Brienne, we need to talk." He stood in front of her to get her full attention.

"I'm not hungry, that's all..." She kept staring to the shirt that she awkwardly tried to mend, thinking that he would be satisfied with that excuse and would leave her alone.

He didn't do that and, when she left her work trying to get away, Jaime was fast enough to take her arm to stop her.

"I think you should go, Brienne." He didn’t have the courage to look at her in the eyes. "Your only crime is being my wife. Your father will receive you delighted in Tarth and no one will chase you. You'll be safe in your home. Perhaps you could even get our marriage nulled...

"I don't know what you are talking about. This," she pointed at the room with her hand, "is my home."  She snapped.

"No, no. I think you are finally realizing that this life is not enough. I tried to make you happy, make you forget everything that you have lost because of me, but it was not enough. I wanted to delay this moment as much as was possible. You married me thinking that you only would be granting a dying man's wish and it's not fair that for an act of piety you have to spend the rest of your life exiled along with someone that you not love anymore.”

"I do not know what you are talking about..." she insisted as she heard him approach her.

When he finally felt brave enough to face her, he had to accept that she seemed genuinely confused, almost offended. He approached to her with small, insecure steps.

"You are not happy with me."

Brienne shook his head; slowly at first, then with almost compulsive movements, until she finally collapsed on the bed covering her face with the hands.

The last time that he saw her cry was during their wedding. But it had been silent happy tears, very different from the stream that flowed from her eyes at these moments. He knelt awkwardly in front of her and placed his hand on her knee.

"Brienne? Everything will be fine. You'll go back to home. Everything will be fine." He assured her.

Almost instantly she stopped sobbing and uncovered her face. Jaime knew very well that stern gesture and he guessed that she was going to slap him just a second before he received it.

"You are an idiot!" She shouted furiously, cleaning her face with the same hand that had just hit him.

*

"I was very happy," Jaime repeated, rubbing the cheek that, long ago, received the blow, "Selfishly happy, most of the time."

"I am trying to find a way to get you out of this, so you can come back to your wife and that selfish and happy life that you decided to leave, the gods know why." Tyrion murmured after a long silence.

When Jaime looked to his brother rushing down his liquor, he noticed for the first time that there was no resentment in his eyes anymore, only concern and grief.

"Were you really following us all these years only to protect us?" He asked smiling, although still unsure.

"Who, by the seven hells, do you think warned you that it was time to flee from the Wall?" Tyrion snorted and growled offended before continuing. "Do you think that the ship that you found was a coincidence?"

It was then that Jaime made a decision.

Then don't waste time with me. I do not need already your help anymore. I am resigned to my fate."

"In that you're right, right now you don't need my help, you are doing pretty well by yourself."  Tyrion told him with an enigmatic smile.

Jaime ignored him and continued. His brother had always enjoyed being cryptic and enigmatic.

"If you want to do something for me... take care of Brienne and make sure she can return safely to Tarth...," he hesitated one last second before adding, "with my daughters."

"Your daughters?" Jaime was unable to disguise his satisfaction, rarely in his life had been able to leave Tyrion with his jaw dropped.

"Brienne was with child when we left Braavos." Unconsciously Jaime returned to rub his cheek. "You have two more nieces. Twins."

*

"You are an idiot!"  She shouted furiously, cleaning her face with the same hand that had just hit him. "I'm with child."

That was definitely something that he didn't expect. He looked at her surprised until a bitter feeling made its way to his stomach.

“Is that so bad?" For some reason he felt offended, hurt.

Brienne didn't answer. She just put her head on his shoulder and after a long silence gave him a long and gentle kiss on the cheek. A kiss like those of the early days, timid and insecure, but full of love and promises to fulfill.

"I am scared." She confessed on his ear not turning away. "I'm afraid of losing it again. I'm afraid of having this child in my arms, get used to be happy with you and our child and at some point someone will open that door and separate us."

He hugged her as hard as he could. Everything started to make sense, but that didn't make it any less painful.

"I didn't marry you for mercy. That is absurd. And I wasn’t even thinking that it would be only for a few hours. If you had not survived..." Her voice broke and she had to take a break to recover herself. "I would have also followed you. I love you. This is my home, the only place where I want to be." She took his hand while her other one was on her belly.  She bitted her lip. "I know it's stupid, I am acting like an idiot, but... I can't help it."

"Brienne," he tightened her hand harder, trying to give her the confidence she needed, "do you want to have this babe?"

She stared at him. Yes, there was fear in her expression. The usually serene blue of her eyes was troubled and stormy, however, even so, Jaime was able to find the illusion that she fought to conceal.

And she barely nodded, but in that gesture there was more determination and security that she could have expressed with a long and reasoned discourse.

“Then, wench, if you are serious about this, you don’t show up to a duel without a sword.” Saying no more he went to find some fruit, milk and meat that placed on the table before taking her hand and force her to sit. “You need to eat for two now. So, eat.” He ordered. “And we will worry for everything else when the time comes.”

For a moment, he thought she would complain or  insisted on analyzing their situation to shred all possible courses of action until they have a well defined plan, as if it were a battle, however she just tight her lips with that sour gesture that disfigured her face whenever she tried to take a decision. A few moments after, she attacked viciously the cheese, as if it were a particularly annoying enemy. After a few more bites, she even dared to smile shyly.

Neither their situation nor their prospects about the future improved after that day, but Brienne, his Brienne, returned slowly to him.

Those were 'intense times', so to speak.

Jaime remembered Cersei during her pregnancies. The first few months she looked radiant and cheerful but as the birthing day approach, her character emerged and transformed her into a beast ready to attack if her slightest wish was not fulfilled perfectly. With Brienne every day was different. She laughed, she got angry, cried, was absent or loved with an intensity that left him exhaust. On the positive side, the nights and their reconciliations have never been so passionate.

To their surprise, when the time had come they hold between their arms not a newly born but two. They were very similar physically, but in terms of character could not be more different. Mariseya was all screams, tantrums and cries; Elenei just sighed with resignation and occasionally gurgled gently to draw attention.

*

“Just a few weeks after the girls were born we had to run away again. On the road they got sick, and we came very close of losing the little one, Elenei.”

“And then you thought it was best to give yourself in, so Brienne and the girls could return safely to Tarth.”

Jaime nodded.

“I could do not much for my other children, but I can do this for my daughters. Give them a normal life, a home...”

“You truly are an idiot! Surely those men asking questions were my envoys trying to find out your whereabouts again.”

“And how was I supposed to know that? Until now I thought you still hate me.” Jaime reproached him with a joker and friendly tone.

Tyrion clicked his tongue and for a long time he concentrated all his attention on his glass of wine.

“You are the one who should hate me; after all, I left you orphan. I killed your mother and your father.”

“You didn’t kill our mother. Do not say stupid things... Those things happen.” He said shaking his head, downplaying the matter.

He approached the window. Wind felt fresher than usual and blew stronger. Perhaps that night they would have one of those short and intense storms that were announcing the end of the spring. Perhaps the same wind would blow away the clouds and soon stars would be visible. Life, in fact, was full of chances.

He watched his left hand resting on the window next to the stump on the frame. Jaime used to find comfort imagining that his hand was the price that life had claimed him for all his past mistakes. But probably some of them were too expensive to have been settled through that single payment.

He turned suddenly to see his brother. Indeed, Tyrion shot to Tywin. But it was his late confession about Tysha what had actually killed Tywin Lannister.

His father always used to say that power created so many enemies as mosquitoes a pond in summer. Nobody outside the immediate family could suspect that Tywin’s worst enemy would be his own son. And he had earned that enemy, diligently fomented his hatred for years. How could he blame Tyrion? Perhaps that would have not happened if his own laziness had not made him conveniently ignore everything that happened inside his family. He could never believe that the hatred that Tywin and Cersei had towards Tyrion could be so extreme, he never thought that Cersei would be able to lie and betray him. He didn't want to imagine that the lesson Tywin was planning to give to Tyrion with that girl would be so cruel. He never thought that the resentment of Tyrion could take him to kill his own father.

“You shot to father and it was he who ordered the rape of Tysha,” He said with emphasis on the girl’s name,” but I'm as responsible as all of you for everything I did and did not do.

Tyrion was silent and stared at him deeply before nodding slightly, as if that simple gesture indicated that they were even, and everything else was already in the past, that, despite everything, they were still brothers.

“I’m surprised to find you so willing to share the blame.” Tyrion said with a more cheerful tone, a moment later. “If I remember correctly, you used to pay to the guys at the stable so they take responsibility whenever you lost a saddle.

“I am about to die, brother,” he dropped with excessive openness. “If I don’t examine my conscience now, I don’t think that I will be able to do it later.” He ended the sentence with one of their typical cynical smiles.

He recalled his previous examination of conscience; somewhat it had turn to be a confession to her daughters the same day of their birth. Brienne was sleeping soundly, exhausted and happy, with the little babies near her, while they were dozing and crying intermittently. Jaime leaned down beside them. Most of the afternoon, he had held them in his arms until Brienne claimed them to feed them. He enjoyed the scent and the warmth the girls had soaked him with, and inevitably wondered if her other three children would have smelled alike, if they would have rested so confidently in his arms as his and Brienne’s daughters did.

From his mouth came words that were mere whispers, barely audibles, sincere and painful. He confessed all to them, even knowing they did not understand and that probably the sound of his voice only served to lull them. He told them about Cersei, their brothers, Aerys, Tyrion, Bran, he confessed them each small sin and regret until he also was exhausted.

That night he slept peacefully near the three of them. His daughters had already heard the truth from his lips, his truth.

“If you want to do something for me, ask your Queen to put an end to this as soon as possible. The confinement is driving me insane.” He said sincerely.

“Are you in such a hurry to die?” Tyrion asked him before leaving.

Jaime shrugged. He didn't want to die, neither wanted to live like this, and above all, he didn't want to feel that strange anxiety which, in recent days, took over him every time he thought of Brienne. He was sure she would not commit the recklessness of risking the lives of the girls with an absurd journey to try to save him.

And nevertheless he felt restless.


	7. 7. Night 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Literally and figuratively, she found me covered in dirt and mud. She knew how to clean me, found something good in me... and make it grow. And I just… fell in love with her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much better now, thanks to singing_banana wonderful job!

**7\. Night 14**  

 

The girl stood in the door,  tray in hand, with a guilty look and unsafe smile. Jaime strove to stay annoyed by her insolence and previous behavior, but deep inside he admired the young girl’s courage to tell him face to face what she thought. In addition, it was evident that Tyrion placed trust in her... and, by the seven hells! He was so bored that he would be willing to do needlework with the same Daenerys Targaryen if it meant hearing a other voice than his own.

 

He gave up and sighed, dropped a half-smile and gestured the girl toward the table. She enthusiastically obeyed and, as always, without waiting for further invitation, occupied a chair and smiled openly as she served herself a glass of wine and cheerfully began the conversation.

 

“My Lord, Tyrion told me about your little girls. Twins!” She exclaimed as excited as only a woman can about an unknown baby. “How old are they?”

 

“They were three moons old when I left them. They will be four in a couple of days.”

 

Jaime moved restless on the edge of the bed. Three moons were so little time and, nevertheless, in that short period he had been more a father for those little ones than he had been for his other children over the course of many years.

 

“What are their names?”  she asked, her head lying in her hand, and the elbow resting on the table. Her face was so close to the candle that her eyelashes were in danger of burning. Because of the dim light he could not define the color of her eyes, but against all his reservations, her gaze inspired his  confidence.

 

“Elenei and Mariseya.” He inevitably rolled his eyes, remembering the long discussions he and Brienne had shared to choose the names.

 

Before the birth of the girls, the wench, foolish as usual, being sure that she would give birth a boy, had chosen the name of Durran, the first King of the Stormlands. Jaime had the suspicion that the name had not been elected as a tribute to his wife’s region of origin, but as a result of her ill-concealed obsession with songs and legends. Deep in her hearth, and in spite of her efforts to disguise it, Brienne was a hopeless romantic. That was something he, more than anyone, should thank since, if not, perhaps she would never have believed in him so fiercely.

 

When life surprised them with two small girls to name, they agreed that each should choose the name for one of them. Jaime was not astonished when Brienne, without doubt, took in her arms the smallest baby, with the sweetest and most serene expression, and without any further formality called her Elenei, as the daughter of the God of the sea and the goddess of the wind; Elenei, as the wife of Durran. He could only say yes and, in turn, looked to the other girl. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks, but when the baby opened her eyes, Jaime found a perfect copy of her mother’s expression. A look that made it clear that she expected nothing less than his best; clear eyes containing a sea of infinite tenderness and generosity under a wall of apparentcoldness.

 

He then recalled a woman from his past with a similar look. She was one of Tyrion’s first wet nurses, thick and gross, with a hoarse voice that shouted orders with a cold accent and cursed in the kitchens with more self-confidence than any sailor in the port. This woman, however, turned into a tender and caring mother when the small and deformed Tyrion was in her arms. In an unknown language, she sang him lullabies, and tirelessly cradled him in her strong arms. Whenever she saw Jaime with his younger brother, she smiled at him with complicity before taking a couple of biscuits from her frayed apron, which she gave him before taking Tyrion in her arms with maternal affection. In the same way that she encouraged and rewarded the presence of Jaime near his brother’s crib, she warned the rest of servants so they would keep Cersei away from the baby. When she arrived to find her nipping his legs or pulling his hair, one look was enough to make her leave the room with a fear that their dignity just allowed him to hide.

 

Unfortunately for Tyrion, a fever took the good woman before his brother came to the first day of his name. Her name was Mariseya. A strong woman, able to take care of herself and those she loved or had sworn to protect, she inspired fear with just a look, and also was able to caress and lavish tenderness and trust. That was the name he chose for his daughter.

 

“Beautiful names,”  the girl said, smiling as sweetly as though she could see the little girls.

 

“Beautiful girls. Just like their mother.” Anya glanced at him with raised eyebrows and a smile of disbelief. “There is more than one type of beauty, kid, ”  he explained, taking his place at the table and serving himself some of the stew the girl had brought him.

 

He remembered his daughters as he had seen them last. Mariseya kicking in her crib, reaching for his arms while she moved her mouth repeatedly as if she were a fish. Elenei asleep, giving soft sighs from time to time and with blond locks stuck to her forehead. Both had their mother’s blue eyes, and Brienne claimed that they had the captivating smile of their father. Most important, both of them seemed to be happy with their wool clothes, their cheap cribs and the pair of rag dolls, which Brienne had made them with the little skill that she had with the needle.

 

“And you gave yourself up so they can have a better life and recover what belong to them by right, Casterly Rock and Tarth,” the girl concluded, looking at the window as if he were no longer present.

 

 

“No,” he  assured the girl immediately. “The Rock was never mine. And in Tarth, I just hope they can find a home. I don't want land or gold for them. I just want them and Brienne to have a safe home; so they don’t have to spend the rest of their lives fleeing.”

 

He was not sacrificing his own life in order for his daughters and wife to have luxuries, because he knew without it they could be truly happy; he was doing it so they would have a home that no one could take from them. So they could settle without having to flee when someone suspicious approached them.

 

Anya fixed her clear eyes on him. For a moment he thought he saw admiration and respect in them. But that was something he rarely inspired with sincerity, so perhaps it was something else. He continued eating, his little girls very fresh in his mind.

 

“It is difficult to understand, how a man who has been able to commit such despicable acts because of a beautiful woman is now willing to make greater sacrifices for a homely one?” Anya asked.

 

Jaime laughed  with irony. That was the one question that everyone should ask of him.

 

“It’s not really complicated if you think about it, kid. There are the two sides of the same coin. We cannot choose who we love, but when you do, you also acquire the unpleasant habit of seeing things that do not exist in those who you love. I loved Cersei for many years and I insisted on seeing her loyal and honest. I never believed her capable of betraying me or lying to me. _Not to me.”_ Even after all this years the memory of Cersei’s betrayals left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

He looked at his food with less interest.

 

“And what do you see in Lady Brienne that doesn’t exist?” the girl asked with curiosity.

 

“Beauty, ”  he said, thinking of his wife’s scarred cheek and freckled, crooked nose. “When I look at her, I know that no matter how she is actually, she is beautiful to me. For a long time Cersei seemed to me honest and loyal; I know she was a beautiful indeed, but it took me many years to learn that she was unable to be loyal to anyone other than herself. And I also know that Brienne, despite having the reputation of being the ugliest woman of the seven kingdoms, is too the only person in the world unable or unwilling of betraying me.”

 

“Were sure your sister was unable to betray you? How can you now be so sure that, when the time comes, your wife will not do the same? What did she do to make you trust in her this way?”  the girl wanted to know, curiosity wrinklingher small and cheeky nose.

 

“She tried to betray me,” Jaime confessed after a moment,in the midst of a laugh.

 

     **

 

_When he was told that she was there it seemed to be a coincidence. Just minutes ago he had been thinking about her. Of course, he thought of her more often than he liked to admit; the damn woman had become a loud and annoying conscience that tortu_ _r_ _ed him either asleep or awake._

_When he saw her, it took him a while to convince himself that she was the same person. She looked haggard, thin, tired... sick. Even her eyes had lost the shine that stubbornness used to confer upon them. She could hardly move her arm and was wearing a dirty bandage on her cheek. However, when he wanted to know what had happened, she was evasive and sparing with words. Not even that prevented him from following her without a hint of doubt. What on earth had he to distrust from the most annoyingly honorable_ _p_ _erson he had known in his life?_

_Looking back, he could have assured himself that he already would have accepted to follow her anywhere, but he was not yet willing to admit it. At that time he followed her without distrust, without questions, with an ingenuity that he had not dared sh_ _o_ _w anyone since his childhood._

_He walked behind her for several hours, supporting the blizzard that constantly dragged leaves and dirt up his face. Despite all, he felt happy. Finally, he should be able to return at least one of the Stark brats home. In addition, he had missed the wench, although he would have preferred to be_ _burned alive than to admit it aloud._

_He thanked the gods when night fell upon them because had feared for a while that the stubborn wench would fall off her horse. She held Oathkeeper’s hilt as if that kept her firmly in the saddle. Awkwardly, she began to dismount, and Jaime had to jump from his horse to hold her before she fell. But she walked away from his touch as if she suddenly feared he could contaminate her with the greyscale. He_ _tried not to feel offended by this._

_“You need to rest. You have a fever, ” Jaime said in a conciliatory tone. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”_

_Brienne looked at him as if she were unable to translate his words. For a long time, all her attention was focused on the hilt of her sword, which she was squeezing so hard_ _that her knuckles were already white._

_“You have to go now, before it’s too late. Perhaps they have been following me,_ _”_ _she whispered without even looking at him._

_Then it was Jaime who couldn’t understand what she was saying. Perhaps it was simply his subconscious trying to protect him, refusing to accept th_ _e_ _sad truth which slowly dawned upon him._

_“What about Sansa?”  he asked, but he was ready for the answer he was about to get._

_“I don't know where she is. You have to go.” The wench spoke so low that Jaime had to approach her to listen what she said. “It was a trap. I was going to turn you in to Lady Catelyn... She is alive.”_

_At first he thought he misunderstood her. He was about to ask her to repeat what she had just said, but the contrite expression on her face left no room for doubt. She too... even  she had betrayed him._

_She offered him th_ _e_ _sword, but Jaime ignored it. He had no desire for the sword; he wanted answers._

_“Why?” The bitter taste in his throat would no_ _t_ _allow him to articulate any more words._

_She sighed and took a moment before answering. If she was taking the time to order her thoughts, finding the answer first for herself, or was simply stupid, it did not make any differ_ _e_ _nce to Jaime; he just wanted an honest answer._

_“Her people captured us... Pod and I... and Hunt. They found the letter you gave me, the sword. Reminded me that I had sworn my sword to her... and she thought that I was your...” Suddenly, Brienne kept silence. Not daring to finish the sentence, she blushed even more deeply, but Jaime was not sure if this was because of the_ _f_ _ever or that what she didn’t dare to confess what had happened._

_Brienne shook her head slowly, with sorrow and a bitte_ _r_ _smile, without lifting her face,_ _completely defeated._

_“Go away, ” she repeated, pleading._

_“What can be more important to you than that, Brienne? What can be more important than your honor, your life, the life of the boy and that man, so that now you decide not follow through? What?” He took her by the wrist with such force that momentarily believed he have broken her a bone, b_ _u_ _t she did not even grimace. Not in pain, at least._

_For the first time, Brienne looked him in the eye.  Tears flooded her lower eyelashes, making her eyes seem bigger, bluer, more innocent and also more tired than ever._

_“You,” Brienne confessed, as rebel tears cascaded down her face, disappearing in the dirty bandage on her wounded cheek._

_It was a single word; the only one that could change everything. Precisely the word he didn’t expect. The word that could make him feels at once so great and so small._

_“You; Jaime. Because you are the only person in this absurd world who has never lied to me. Because you have saved me and protected me even when you should have considered me your enemy. Because, despite your jokes, you believed in me and respect me. You are more important to me than my honor, my life and any other oath that I have  taken. I will give_ _my life trying to save Pod and Hunt, but I am not willing to give up yours.”_

_Without saying one word more, she returned to her mount and walked away. Jaime, without moving, watched as she sauntered away in silence. Only when her figure was lost amid the mist did he  ride. He led his horse in the opposite direction but was unable to advance more than a few steps. He then forced the animal to turn around in the same direction the wench had taken. The stupid woman really was going to get killed because she was sure that he had some honor inside him, and if that was true, in any way, he could not allow her t_ _o_ _go through with such stupidity... at least not alone._

_This was undoubtedly a stupid act of recklessness. And that was exactly his specialty._

_When he reached her she was crestfallen and distracted, she didn’t even notice his presence until he was beside her. Then, she stopped, and with the expression of a vulnerable lamb, silently questioned him. He continued on his way without looking back until he r_ _e_ _alized that the wench was looking for an explanation._

_“I have never left anyone to fight_ _my battles for me, ”  he explained in the end, without turning back._

_Part of him was furious at her and wanted to hurt her; another part wanted to give her a pat on the shoulder and lie to her, reassuring her that everything would be all right. He decided not look at her because he wasn’t willing to let his impulse toward softness win the game.  He wanted to be furious with her, at least a little l_ _o_ _nger. After all, he still had several unanswered questions._

_They continued for a couple of hours, keeping a cold distance, she looking miserable and he offended. However, part of his anger dissipated when he found her observing him secretly with something akin admiration. This look, with the passage of time, became one of his most beloved memories, along with another dedicated to him, shortly afterwards, when his men rescued them after several days of captivity, and he said that he would p_ _e_ _r_ _s_ _onally_ _continue with the search for the Stark brats, whether she was going to accompany him or not._

 

   ***

 

 

“She is a very special woman and it looks like you two have a long history.... It’s not surprising you are so close and love each other so much.”

 

Jaime smiled.

 

“Literally and figuratively, she found me covered in dirt and mud. She knew how to clean me, found something good in me... and make it grow. And I just… fell in love with her.”

 

“But you also loved your sister...”

 

“Yes, I did, so much...” But he suddenly felt tired. “ For so long. I sacrificed all I had for her. And also would have given my life if she could have been loyal to me, if she had not hated Tyrion so much and for no reason... If she had not lied to me so much.” Jaime tightened his stump furiously; recalling the sickening gesture Cersei could hardly hide whenever she saw it. “If she could have seen me as something more than her simple reflection. Even so, I tried to make it on time to protect her, to save her and Tommen... I really tried …” he murmured with frustration.

 

“Just  as you protected Tyrion when he was sentenced to death and now protect Lady Brienne and your daughters, ” Anya said languidly. “But, tell me,  Ser Jaime, who protects you?”

 

He thought of Brienne, who had made her care for him something as natural as breathing, and who, if not for the girls, would already have been willing to face an army alone, to die for him without even thinking.

 

He thought of Tyrion who, in spite of everything, and at the risk of his own position, tried to help him as much as he could.

 

Jaime had done many wrongs in his life, but he also should have done something well if he still had at least two people willing to protect him.

 

He looked at the girl smiling and just shrugged.


	8. Night 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not pretty sure my translation is better than Google's but, here it is.  
> Again I have no beta, and this is the best I can do.  
> Happy Hollydays!

No matter how much Jaime tried to find his reflection in his glass of water, it was difficult to clearly notice it. He had several scars on his face, some wrinkles around the eyes and forehead, and the gold into in his hair slowly conceded their way to silver. He wasn’t all bad for a man in his early forties. At least that was what his vanity inclined him to think. He never before had pondered how much damage time had caused to him until that day. As always, damn boredom forced him to consider issues that probably were better buried on the deepest of his consciousness.

 

That very morning Tyrion had come to him announcing that he had a special visit. Ridiculously, first person that came to his mind was Brienne. He actually didn't know if had felt relieved or disappointed when he found out the visitor wasn’t his wife. Discarded that initial idea he imagined the Queen was finally willing to dedicate him some minutes for insulting him, confirming his sentence or put him to death herself.

 

But it wasn't any of those women who were waiting for him behind the door. Who looked at him with the resigned gesture from any adult who is considering how to discipline a boy that again has committed the same mischief was Genna Lannister.

 

His aunt has suddenly aged and even when she tried to hide the gray in her head with a heavy headdress, Jaime felt a deep sadness to see how tired she looked. Only her eyes saved the joviality that always characterized the woman; that and the fact that, as always, she stood in her toes in front of him to tweak his cheeks, made Jaime had a little regression to his childhood.

 

Passionately, the women scolded him for having fled, have not communicated, for give himself in and, most of all, urged him with thousands of questions about his family —she wanted to know everything about Brienne and his daughters. And, without much effort, for hours he spoke of them until night fell upon them and the guard appeared to inform them it was time to terminate the visit.

 

As soon as Jaime was left alone, he necessarily began to wander about his aunt’s old age and his own. Time was, after all, the only enemy who knows no pity or absolution. Unexpectedly he felt old and tired, he had actually begun to feel old at the age of fifteen though; a few days after he joined the King’s Guard, when he faced the reality of what would be the rest of his life.

 

Even knowing that he would never be as old as his father at the time of his death, he found himself imagining the damage time would cause to him in five or ten years. It was hard enough for a handless man to cope with daily life so, he deemed perhaps it was better die now, before becoming a victim of the old age’s aches and troubles.

 

Brienne was much younger than him and he would’ve hated been near her when the years made a burden of him, a heavier one than that he had always represented for her.

 

Late in the night, and just when that thought was beginning to make him feel drowsy, hasty steps were heard in the hallway and Jaime resigned to be awake for the night. He sighed while slowly got up. At the end of the corridor were the quarter of the guards and occasionally their chief received some girl’s visit and their laughter and groans could be heard until well into the morning.

 

On this occasion however, the voices and noises that woke him up were different. Strong steps were heard, orders were shouted and disorder were everywhere. Jaime gave up all hope of sleep at all that night. He sat on the bed alert, trying to catch loose words to understand what was happening in the hallway; not because it actually matters, but to be entertained for a while.

 

To his surprise, after a few minutes, some of the steps suspiciously came to his room and suddenly the door opened slightly. Tyrion was hardly able to give a couple of steps, avoiding his gaze and trying to accommodate his shirt, which he seemed to have put on abruptly. He let go of something that was halfway between a sigh and one of his typical snorting before deciding to speak.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jaime...”

 

Few times he had seen his brother really sorry about something and a deep shiver ran down his spine imagining the probable cause.

 

“Aunt Genna?”  He asked unsure. He had seen her so old...

 

Tyrion barely had time to shook his head until another scream, this time very close to them were listened in the hallway.

 

“I have the right to see him!” He knew that voice and his shiver grew intense.

 

“I know you didn't want this, but I assure you I had nothing to do with it. She came by her own foot...”

 

The little man put himself aside and disappeared when well-known steps dangerously approached toward his room.

 

Then the door opened completely and the tall and strong figure of a woman showed instantly.

 

Jaime tried to guess her reaction through her expression, but it wasn’t possible. First she seemed angry, then happy and then relieved. Probably those were actually his own feelings and not hers, but he cannot be sure.

 

In the end, she was the one who closed the distance and ran to embrace him. When he held her in his arms, felt as if he was breathing freely after have been holding his breath for weeks. Both were embracing each other so hard that it seemed some kind of miracle that no rib was broken.

 

Instinct, habit, desire, anxiety, either was the reason his lips looked for hers immediately; tacitly agreeing explanations could wait a couple of minutes. Thanks to the hunger contained during their separation, what began as an innocent greeting was intensified until a more comfortable position was needed and they let themselves fell into bed. Their hands began to wander by roads often traveled and that they already knew by heart, while their legs were intertwined as if wanted to form a knot impossible to break.

 

But just then Brienne fiercely pushed him apart before strongly hit him on the chest with her fist closed. She moved away and sat on the edge of the bed while her breathing was normalized.

 

“You really are an idiot!” She roared, suddenly angry.

 

“Yes, definitely I must be.” Jaime murmured rubbing the spot where she had just hit him. “I married a extremely violent and fickle woman.” He added with that tone mid playful mid sarcastic that always made her smile.

 

It didn't work, on that occasion he only managed to irritate her more.

 

“Howbytheseven, could you decided doing such madness and noteven discuss it with me?” She was so upset that words tangled before leaving her mouth and Jaime had to take a moment to understand what she was saying. He saw her getting out of bed and walk a couple of steps away from him.

 

“We just agree that I'm an idiot.” He reminded he condescendingly.

 

“Don't do that! Don’t make a jock of this. This is serious... This is...” Brienne paused, probably trying to calm down herself and failing miserably. At last, she let herself fell out again in the fluffy bed, her sentence unfinished.

“I thought maybe I could not come here in time, that I could not see you again... We had a terrible storm; it took me days to find a ship. I thought it would not come here in time.”

 

Jaime sat beside her. He interlaced his fingers with hers and felt her tremble; after a while she put her head on his shoulder and just sighed.

 

At times like that, when Brienne got relaxed by simply feeling him close, he almost could swear that she really loved him with the same intensity he love her.

 

He had spent all his life convinced the love he gave was far greater that which he received in return. He knew his love for Cersei, for his father, even for Tyrion was much more than what they were willing to give him back. He had learned to live that way and, in any case, change the situation it wasn't at his hand.

 

However, at some point years ago, he began to think maybe Brienne didn’t _love him_ and she was simply in love with the idea of being loved, and that thought it was something he simply couldn’t stand.

 

Everybody would find his situation hilarious —in that odd couple it was the formerly glorious Lannister who was full of doubts and insecurities.

 

“The girls? Are they well?” He suddenly remembered, when she was already breathing rhythmically with her head still in his shoulder, as he continued holding her hand almost furiously.

 

A good father, he assumed, would have asked that question in the first moment of their meeting, leaving lust for later.

 

To his surprise, his wife scowled annoyed.

 

“Kidnapped. Practically they were taken away from my arms.” Before Jaime had time to worry she added: “It took your aunt Genna no more than a few minutes to make a mass of laces and velvets of our girls.”

 

Jaime laughed and Brienne looked at him angry. He could easily imagine how both women would have reacted. Probably, Genna Lannister fainted the moment she found his nephew's daughters dressed in plain and humble clothes. On the other hand, Brienne, who had always felt happy knowing her daughters would grow up in a more austere environment, could not hide his annoyance with that excess of luxury.

 

They were silent for a long time, until Brienne began to get uneasy.

 

“I always knew I wouldn’t be a good mother and what I'm about to say now surely confirms that.” She squeezed his hand so hard that Jaime began to feel his fingers numb, nevertheless he didn’t move nor tried for her to release his hand. “I swear I love our daughters, Jaime, I love them with my whole heart and I’m willing to give anything to keep them safe and happy. I’d give my life to protect them... but not yours. Not your life, because I love you above all and I will do whatever it takes to not lose you.” For once she did nothing to hide the tears running down her cheeks and, to emphasize her words, she finally withdraw her hand, only to take him by the neck’s robe and shook him violently.

 

He hugged her with the same intensity and, no matter how foolish that could seems, Jaime was absolutely sure never in his whole life he had felt so happy.

 

“You know, wench,” He said gently stroking her scarred cheek. “I've waited my whole life to listen anybody tell me something like that.” Then she looked at him with wet eyes, almost like two bits of sky before a storm, and he had to correct himself. “No, not just anyone, I waited for years for you to tell me exactly that.”

 

“You idiot!” She growled suddenly angry, with a fist closed she hit him on the shoulder a couple of times. If I didn’t love you, do you think I would have followed you up until the end of the world for all these years?

 

“I always thought it was _me_ following _you.”_ He said confused, softly wiping the tears from her face.

 

He kissed her wet cheeks and finally her lips. At that moment she seemed so helpless and delicate, so needed of protection.

 

“I want for my daughters to have a father.” She pushed him away and all trace of weakness vanished, instead the determined and firm warrior’s look emerged.

 

“They’ll have one: yours. He did very good job with you, and I am sure he can manage our little imitations. Perhaps...” He added tentatively, trying to cheer her up. “He could make them less stubborn and violent.” He said with a light and mocking voice that, for some inexplicable reason, only served to make Brienne’s tears run faster.

 

“They will have you.” She said, with a stubbornness that got Jaime alarmed.

 

“When, by the seven, did you become a weak and tearful lady?” Jaime changed the subject with agility.

 

“When my knight in shining armor rescued me from a violent bear.” She smiled weakly.

 

“Ah, had I known back then what awaited for me! I would have rescued out the bear... It was surely not so violent.” He said thoughtfully.

 

“So, did you have also married the bear?” Brienne asked pretending be offended and giving him a push on the ribs.

 

“It had a charming smile.” Jaime shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it was female. I didn't have time to find out. It might seem rude prying in its private parts on our very first meeting.”

 

And finally, his wench really laughed.

 

Brienne’s eyelid was lightly contracted by her cheek’s scar, which gave to her a permanently sad expression that only disappear when she really laughed or was frowning for any reason. And probably it was that the reason Jaime enjoyed making her both angry and laughs, because he couldn't stand looking at her sad face.

 

They lay embraced, silently enjoying their closeness. Chasing away the persistent thought that that could be the last time they touched or smelled... or they melted in each other.

 

Her hair was now longer and shiny, but kept the same straw and lifeless color; however, Jaime used to spend long hours caressing it and intoxicated by its aroma. It smelled not at oriental oils, exotic woods or delicate flowers like Cersei’s did. Brienne smelled of fresh grass, springs and lakes... to greenfield, and Jaime had always felt happy under opencast.

 

He fell sleep embracing his wife, with their fingers interlace. He didn’t even listened when some time later the door opened again and a pair of eyes studied them carefully: there was peace in the couple’s faces, she didn’t look so big and ugly nor he so cynical and arrogant.

 

In that moment she may well be beautiful and fragile and he honorable and gentle.

 

It could be it was that their true nature. Or probably it was just an illusion created by the dim light. Truth sometimes enjoyed hiding itself in the midst of a false impressions’ sea.

 

The door closed again as stealthily as it was opened and the anonymous observer very slowly withdrew.

 


	9. Night18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Lauralina for helping me with this chapter.

## 9\. Night 18

Next morning when Jaime woke up, Brienne was asleep by his side, arms and legs wrapped around him as if preventing someone could take him from her side again. Very slowly he freed his hand to remove some hair covering her face. Her expression was peaceful and quiet; there was such peace in her that she almost looked like a child.

The two baskets containing their daughters were on one side of their bed; amidst the extreme silence in the room Jaime could hear them breathe. Hours ago, while Brienne and him dozed on the bed, a couple of serving girls knocked on the door and left beside them two wrappings of silks and velvets in which hardly their daughters’ faces could be found.

Brienne ran towards them and with surprising speed began to strip them of all the excess of clothing, leaving them just with the simple nighties cotton they were wearing under all unnecessary luxuries. Only then she placed them in the arms of Jaime.

He was surprised by how much they both had grown up in a few days. It was stupid, and he wouldn’t admit it aloud to no one, but besides Brienne’s presence, his greatest happiness was the understanding that the girls’ exaggerated gurgling when they first saw him was a clear proof that they recognized him and missed him. Of course, he wouldn't say any of this to Brienne; there was no need, surely she had guessed this with only a few seconds of watching him.

He got up very slowly to get a better look of the girls, trying not to wake up Brienne. No matter what was going to happen to him, he was grateful by the opportunity to say goodbye again. He kept deep in his memory every one of those stolen minutes with his family and felt that somehow his belief on what he was doing grew stronger.

  Unfortunately, Jaime only had a few minutes to contemplate in this way the three women in his life. Suddenly a guard knocked on the door several times before reminding them that the Queen wished to talk to Lady Brienne. Very loudly the girls woke up and, as before, both of them stood up to take each one of the girls. Usually Jaime took Mary, while Brienne fed Ely, and after several minutes they switched them.

They granted them just a few moments more of privacy before the door opened again and a guard insisted on escorting Brienne to the presence of the Queen.

“Brienne,” He said, hugging her before she left the room, “I did this for you and our daughters. So the three of you could be safe and secure. Don’t throw it away to follow some of your suicidal nonsense. Whatever it happens, think first of yourself and our daughters. Please, promise me you’ll do this.”

She caressed his face with both hands and looked at him for a long time before answering.

“I‘m not the only one in our family who loves suicidal nonsense, you know?” She protested smiling; she gave him a soft kiss on the lips and then laid her forehead against his. “I promise you... that we’ll be together again —the four of us. I swear it.”

  She turned around and giving him no time to say anything more, she left him to swallowing alone the uneasiness her words had caused him.

During the day, each time the door opened again Jaime expected to see Brienne, but he only met the young boys who brought him food, and they didn’t answer any questions about his wife and seemed deaf to his constant requests to see his brother.

It was already very late in the afternoon when the door opened once again and when the disappointment began to draw on his face to see Anya and not his wife, he saw his kids smiling and happily giggling in the bed as if they knew they were about to become the principal attraction of the newcomer.

The girl barely could contain herself to take one of his daughters; she gave a pleading look at Jaime and mumbled a low and prompt "Can I?" before taking Ely in her arms.

“They really are lovely girls.” She said, trying to caress the hands of Marysella while holding Elenei. “I also met Lady Brienne.” Said the girl with an unsure smile. “She’s a very strong and determined woman.”

Jaime nodded proudly. His other children never gave him the opportunity to glow about their prowess; being a real father was still new to him. Regarding Brienne, he knew very well she was an outstanding woman, but most important she was his — _and only his_ — woman. According to gods and men’s laws she was his and of no one else.

“You never mentioned the scar in her face.” Anya said rocking Ely in her arms.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter.

“Did she already have it when you got marry?” The girl tried to conceal the sorrow that only a beautiful woman could feel toward other one ugly and who was also scarred.

“Our wedding night was a long recognition of each one of our scars.” Jaime assured her with a mischievous look. Technically, that had not happened exactly during their wedding night, though.

The girl gave him one of those long and deep looks that caused him the impression of being judged.

“You really must love her very much if you married her despite that. Not any man would accept a woman so visibly disfigured.”

Jaime was silent and chose to ignore the comment. It drove him mad when people spoke about his wife as if she were damaged merchandise, only bought after a long bargaining and accepted in addition any gift as compensation.

The girl left Ely in the bed and gently picked up Mary.

“This little beauty has his mother eyes.” She said, kissing the forehead’s girl “I suppose it’s not easy for Lady Brienne.” whispered Anya, with a compassionate look that would have incited his wife’s wrath.

“Perhaps the scar is one of the many reasons why I love her. And also because I know if she is so strong about that is just to not make me feel guilty. After all, it was me who did that to her.”

The girl, horrified, turned to look at him and he just sighed tiredly. He sat down at the other end of the bed, and placed his right arm’s stump over Ely’s belly, making slow circular movements to lull her. He wasn't less guilty for not having done the damage directly. He wasn´t a song’s hero for taking a damaged woman as his wife when himself had caused the major damage.

“When Lady Catelyn set me free, she made me swear that I’d return her daughters safe and sound, she also made Brienne swore she would deliver me in one piece to King’s Landing. She kept her word, of course, but when we arrived the girls had disappeared. I decided to stay to fulfill my duties as Lord Commander of the King’s Guard and protect the new King, and I sent her in that absurd mission to find the Stark lads.

I placed on her shoulders the burden of restoring my honor and, in the midst of that adventure she crossed paths with a madman who devoured half her cheek. She almost died from a fever caused by the wound and a few days later Catelyn was about to hang her because the wench was stupid enough to defend me instead of her.” He told her irritated. “Yes, kid, I love her so much that sometimes I find myself wishing that I would have never met her.” Jaime added squeezing his fist and teeth without being able to avoid the blinding rage that took over him, as always he remembered what had happened.

The years had failed to soften the memory of the first time he saw the extent damage in Brienne’s face.

_It had been several weeks since they finally succeeded in escaping from the brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart. Her wound probably had already been closed a long ago, but she continued using the bandage, keeping hidden half her face with a sick fervor. She barely said a couple of words when it was necessary and she avoided by all means looking at him in the eye or being near him._

_“It’s not as bad as you think.” He lied, placing his hand on her cheek gently, fearing his touch would cause her pain._

_Rough stitches could be seen in the middle of her cheek, where someone had tried to join pieces of skin and in the lower part, in reddish color, was a small section that could not have been covered by skin and was still healing. The corner of her eye was slightly inclined towards the cheek by the contraction of the skin._

_“It doesn’t matter.” She assured him, suddenly pushing his hand away and turning her face away from him._

_“Of course it matters. So scream, cry, hit me, curse me or take a fucking knife and make the same damage to me. Tell me that it was my entire fault and look at me in the face when you do, but stop behaving as if I don't exist!”_

_He was so furious that he shook her arm until she had no other choice but to angrily glance at him in the eye before getting rid of his arm with more violence than what was needed. Jaime wasn’t sure whom he was angrier with: himself for indirectly having hurt her or, ironically, with her for disguise as indifference the hate that she must already had for him._

_And her hate towards him was a poison that gnawed his entrails as few things in his life had done before._

_She forcefully pushed him away hitting his chest. He had to go back a couple of steps to regain the balance and not fall. He just stood firm on his legs when Brienne hit him again in the chest and on that moment he wasn't able to recover the balance in time; he fell to the ground hitting his hand with a stone. The freckles of her face were barely perceptible with her face so red because of the rage._

_When he tried to get up Brienne gave him a kick on the hip._

_“It wasn’t your fault!” She roared, looking at him and maybe evaluating whether it was convenient to make that he understood that with another blow. “It wasn’t your fault.” She repeated, finally offering a hand to help him get up._

_“I wasn’t there.” Jaime murmured squeezing her hand with unnecessary force while he stood up. “It should have been me.”_

_“It wasn’t your fault.” Brienne repeated, stubborn as a mule, but with a sincerity that overflowed her blue eyes like a waterfall. She took him by the collar of the shirt and shook him a couple of times. “It wasn’t your fault.”_

_After a while he nodded, and only then she released him. Jaime had to smile. It was not his habit to try to cheer people up, and he had no idea of how to do that, but he was pretty sure he must be very bad at that since, at some point, went from being the one who tried to comfort to the one that was being comforted._

_Tentatively he put his hand on the woman’s shoulder; she continued to stare at him, trying to read in his expression if she had finally convinced him of his innocence on her wound. On that moment, pretending a strength that she was very far to feel, for the first time he felt her vulnerable and fragile. And never, until that moment, he had been so eager to protect someone who wasn't Tyrion._

_Awkwardly he hugged her. First she was stiff as a log, but after a few seconds she began to relax and even she gave him a couple of clumsy pats on the back before leaving him, blushed and looking to the ground._

_“After all, wench, you’re right.” Uneasy, Brienne gave a step back. “It really doesn't matter. If you had been beautiful that scar on your face would have been a great loss, but you were already ugly before.” He shrugged and began to shake the dust and mud off of his clothes, “Probably people will not even notice it.”_

_She tightened his lips, and Jaime was not sure if she was trying to conceal a smile or unsheathed the sword to attack him. His wench seemed to be back and just then he realized how much he had actually missed her._

_Brienne did not use the bandage again, and thereafter she tried hard to be indifferent about it; however, Jaime could see how her hand went compulsively to her cheek whenever she felt observed._

“All this time that we lived almost isolated, has helped her to cope with it. But I know it will be more difficult when she returns to Tarth and she’ll be forced to face the pity looks of his father and everyone else. That will be really difficult for her.”

Jaime sighed and he thought that sadly he could not be able to be there for her. He couldn’t offer his hand to give her strength when she falters as she had done with him so many times.

“You know her very well.”  Anya said smiling.

“Even if we wanted to we could not have secrets between us.”

Jaime knew well that both of them had tried to keep certain things for themselves, but sooner or later they ended up confessing everything to each other, every story, every fear, even the littlest mischief. Disguised between sarcastic jokes, Jaime had gotten the nerve to reproach her that she remained by his side not by love, but because her stupid honor.

Yes, they knew each other very well. There wasn’t a single spot in their bodies or souls that they had not visited at least once.

“If she knows all about you, aren’t you afraid that when the Queen questions her she could said something that may compromise you?”

Jaime laughed. He hesitated for a moment; he wasn’t sure what exactly was more absurd; that there was something that could make his situation worse, or that the wench was willing to betray him.

“I cannot think of something that might harm me at this point. I'm pretty sure even your Queen is unable to kill me twice. Besides, Brienne’s great honor couldn’t allow her to betray me.”

“It’s amazing that a woman well known for her honesty could have fallen in love and married a man... “ Said the girl after a long silence, then she hesitated, probably trying to find some euphemism to continue.

“A man known in the seven kingdoms of having no honor?” Jaime helped her, smiling at the worried girl. “That, kid, is something that comforts me. If she, knowing everything about me, has been able to live by my side all these years, maybe it means that I have some honor after all. At least I know she believes so, and that is enough for me.” He watched Mary sleeping peacefully in Anya’s arms and Ely peacefully playing with her fingers in the elegant basket that she had been placed. “She will find a way to do that our daughters won’t ever be ashamed of  being the Kingslayer’s daughters.”

The girl smiled and carefully placed the baby in the basket along with her sister, close to Jaime. Both had fallen asleep, so when she continued talking she did it in nearly inaudible whispers.

“They’re beautiful.”

 

When the young woman was on the verge of leaving, Jaime took her by the arm and hesitated for a few seconds before he got up and approached her with slow steps.

“Could you do something for me, Anya?” She nodded slightly, but decisively. “When you see my brother tell him to do whatever is necessary to get Brienne away from here. I don't care if he has to send her to Tarth tied inside a sack, ask him to do what's necessary to get her out of here as soon as possible so she can’t see the Queen anymore. It doesn’t matter if I also won’t be able to see her again.” He begged, pressing her arm with more force than necessary.

“I thought that you fully trusted in your wife and you didn’t feel that she could betray you.”  Anya reminded him; gently placing her right hand on his left, which was still squeezing her arm.

“That is not what I fear.” He said smiling with regret. “I am worried she would do something stupid and useless trying to save my life risking her life or our daughters.

Anya nodded giving him another grip on the hand.


	10. 10. Night 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Jaime finally faces Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Lauralina for all her help editing this chapter! :D

# 10 night 21

Three whole days went by without Jaime having contact with anybody. One of the guards brought him his food three times a day, but the man seemed as dumb as deaf and refused to answer any of his questions.

Just a few minutes after Brienne left the room for her interview with the Queen a couple of girls appeared with orders to take his daughters away. He had just a few seconds to say goodbye and see them for what easily could be the last time.

For the remains of the day he kept the hope that he could be allowed to have a final conversation with his wife, but by nightfall he had to abandon that hope and resign himself with the subtle aroma that Brienne’s skin had left impregnated in him during their last night together.

Neither Tyrion crossed his door trying to distract him with a match of some annoying game in which he would win outrageously nine of ten times. Not even Anya came to bother him with her relentless litany of questions about his life. No one addressed him or offered any explanation. For the first time since his return to King's Landing, he was truly upset. He spent hours imagining Brienne doing any kind of stupid thing and ending in one of the dark and cold dungeons of the Keep.

Stupid wench! He had thought that she would be cautious because of her daughter’s sake and would remain away from Westeros for a while, and when things were safe she could go to Tarth. But his stupid wench had done the most foolish thing possible and delivered herself to the mouth of the wolf… or the dragon to be accurate. The firm expression on her freckled face and her decision to take him of out there made him tremble. He knew Tyrion would do what it took to protect his girls, and judging by what he had heard of Daenerys Targaryen, he doubted very much that his daughters’ life was in danger —unfortunately he wasn’t so sure about his wife’s life.

He was still immersed in his dark thoughts and he had already get used to the idea of having no more visitors when the door opened and Tyrion stepped through it with a calm gesture that could fool anyone who had not known him since he was in diapers.

“Is my family fine?” He asked getting up and approaching him without giving him time to put both feet inside the room.

“They are well. All three of them.” He made a long pause while apparently scratch his nose’s stump without concern. “Tomorrow morning you’ll have your audience with the Queen.”  Tyrion told him with the same dispassionate tone that he’d inform the breakfast menu.

And with equal indifference Jaime just nodded.

“I suppose that you came to say goodbye.” He concluded, visibly more relaxed while he got comfy in the bed again.

“No. I just wanted you heard the news from me.” Tyrion made another long pause staring at the floor, then slowly lifted his face and looked at him in the eye before he continued. “Also I came to ask you... as a personal favor, that if you think you owe me something, please, for the sake of your family, for once forget your fucking pride.”

Tyrion gaze steady at him, rarely in his life he had spoken to him with so much seriousness.

As answer, Jaime just gave him one of its disdainful half smiles. He wasn’t going to plead for his life, won’t fake a regret that he didn’t feel, not for Aerys at least. He was willing to humiliate himself and beg for Brienne and their daughters, but once they were safe he wouldn’t ask for a clemency that surely, even if it was granted to him, would result a life time imprisonment in a dark and humid dungeon, or, in the best case scenario, in that same room, having no more freedom than to look to the poor landscape through his windows. No, he preferred a quick and clean death. Brienne would suffer for a while, but eventually she would get over it and move forward for her daughter’s sake; otherwise, knowing he was alive, she’d spend all her time thinking in a way to free him.

Funny thing, but knowing he’d finally face his judge, far from feeling anxioushe felt at peace.

***

Behind the curtains, Daenerys Targaryen had a perfect view of the accused. One of the men who had learned to hate and despise before she was even able to speak his name: Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer and her father’s murderer.

Oddly, he didn’t seem to be upset or restless; in fact, he was smiling reassuringly to his wife, who was a few steps away and unlike him, seemed nervous and defeated. Seeing them together no one could believe the close relationship they had, a relationship that, unlike many others, was based on a total trust.

Tyrion Lannister, the brother of the accused and her Hand remained serene and confident, or at least he pretended to be. Daenerys had decided not to be influenced by the relationship between her father’s murderer and one of her most loyal and helpful counselors. Each person was only responsible for his own past and present actions, and no one should pay for others’ mistakes. She focused on the Kingslayer’s wife and the little girls that wrapped in theirs baskets were beside their mother. No, not even them should pay for other’s faults.

She wanted so much to hate this man and at that moment she couldn’t even give credit to the claims of many of her allies that accused the eldest Lannister of being cocky and arrogant. Seeing him from afar his gesture almost seemed friendly; Daenerys could easily imagine him sitting near a fireplace, sharing an anecdote with friends.

She resignedly sighed, despite everything that had happened it was no easy for her to take a man’s life, no matter how much he could deserve it. Perhaps if the man begged mercy she could sympathize with his wife and daughters. Maybe if he shows remorse...

Daenerys walked to the other side of the room to make her entrance with all the pomp and circumstance that the occasion demanded. She was wearing one of her best gowns and adorned her neck and wrists with expensive necklaces and bracelets covered with gems. She had gotten her hair perfumed and oiled to make it shine like a cascade of silver on her shoulders and wear it down, her violet eyes were illuminated by the midday sun so no one could doubt by a moment which family she belonged to.

She let the guards open the gates for her and entered behind her Queensguards. She look at Lannister, this time from his back, and noticed how he proudly stand up from the moment he heard the doors opened. Unintentionally she did the same thing, she was a small woman and practically any men were taller than her, but she had never been intimidated by that. Obviously she wouldn’t allow herself to be shy facing Lannister.

She passed by his side without looking at him and felt the man’s gaze fixed on her nape. She didn’t turn around until she was in front of the throne, with the Kingslayer several steps away from her. Then she faced him slowly, matching the pride’s man as he watched her. Just at that moment she understood why everybody accused him of being arrogant. One of the men that guarded him had to punch him so, in a forced way, he pay his respects.

Daenerys ordered her guards to bring the man closer to her and as they do it the man’s arrogance grew until it looked as if he was controlling the situation and doing her a favor just with his mere presence.

Lannister was twenty steps away from her when the pedantry of his gaze became curiosity. Closing the distance, and when he finally was convinced that his eyes were not deceiving him, it was pure fury that filled his eyes.

“Why?” He asked tighten his teeth and with his hand in a tight fist.

Tyrion tiredly sighed, but everybody else present, including Lady Brienne, shared the same look of confusion.

“Because I needed to get to know you. I had to learn the truth about you, but not through the eyes of a brother who adored you as a child or by the words of men who suffered the humiliations of your family for years. I wanted to meet you in a natural way, didn’t want the story you’d tell your judge or executioner. I wanted to hear the truth without absurd justifications or bluffing and the only way to achieve that was to present to you someone so simple that you may come to believe that you were speaking with yourself.”

“You knew about this,” He said, addressing his brother with a bitter tone.

— “Knew what?” Brienne asked.

“I did what have to be done.” Replied Tyrion being pragmatic.

“What is going on here?” Brienne asked again scowling and her ugly face deformed because of the concern.

“Our beloved Queen has been honoring me with her visits since my arrival. But to save the appearances she decided to do that disguised as a simple wench.” Jaime finally explained before he gave to Daenerys and Tyrion a deep look of contempt. “Well, your Highness,” somehow that words sound like mockery in his mouth, “I really hope I had provided you with a good show. If you had fun with the small misfortunes of my life I’ll feel honored by have served to a Targaryen again; even when I wasn’t aware of it.” He said with a dramatic bow, which earned him a gesture of censure of his brother.

“I assure you, ser Jaime, the misfortunes of your life are anything but small.” She smiled unfazed before returning to her place on the throne and smoothed her skirt before continuing. “It wasn’t my intention to laugh at you. Sincerely, I didn’t believe my role as Anya would be extended beyond that first night. I had heard so many rumors about your relationship with your beautiful sister, about your surprise marriage to Lady Brienne —I thought you’d fail my first test and then I can have your head with my conscious clear, but—”

“But your Highness failed when she tried to seduce me.” Jaime concluded with a satisfied smile.

Lady Brienne even dare to gave her an offended stare and, much to her regret, Daenerys felt a slight flush began to dye her cheeks.

“Lady Brienne, your husband made very clear he doesn’t want anyone but you in his bed. You can be sure of that.” She said in a conciliatory tone.

“I am at ease. I fully trust my husband; you are not the first woman trying to get into his bed.” Said Brienne annoyingly confident.

Daenerys behold the unequal couple with a mixture of feelings, and between all of them, envy insisted in standing out. The man watched his wife with that satisfied half smile and green eyes shining with pride. Anyone would have been astonished in the absolute confidence of such ungraceful woman about her husband’s fidelity, when many others, beautiful and attractive, wouldn’t even place a bet on their husband’s loyalty.

I supposed that you would give into your more basic instincts and would try to take advantage of the humble maid that was offered to you for free. Far from that, you began to tell me such an incredible story of love and adventures that made me go back again and again until you reach the end.

“An end that you’ll write with your own hand.” Concluded Jaime.

“That’s right. However, before we get to that I need to ask one last question and that one I must do it without deceptions; looking at you in the eye as Daenerys Targaryen, as the daughter of the King you swore to protect and cowardly murdered instead.”

She was quite shorter than her prisoner but, in spite of that, when she faced him she tried hard to make her voice, her poise and her gestures leave perfectly clear who really held the power at that time. Unfortunately, the man did not seem the type that was easily to be scared away so, instead of feeling intimidated, he gave her a tired laugh and his eyes got around the room with boredom.

“You want to know the wicked and petty reasons I had to kill your father. You want to kill me without losing the aura of Holiness that you think you have. Just do it! I did it because I wanted the power for me or for my father, or because your father had humiliated my family and me as well... or because I was bored... you choose the reason that suits you better but just do it already!” Shouted, losing his temper so dangerously that one of the guards threatened him putting the tip of his spear in Jaime ribs.

Daenerys heard Tyrion sigh with fatigue but she didn’t recede; not even blinked by the Lannister outburst.

“I just want to know the truth.” She explained without losing her calm.

Surely he was about to drop out another cunning and useless comment, but then his eyes by pure magnetism settled in his wife’s and on them he could clearly read her silent plead, the infinite sadness of someone that had jeopardized everything for a cause that is about to lose for good, that then the man tightened his lips and showed some self-control.

For once, he was the one that draw up and glanced down to Daenerys.

“Believe me, kid, you don't want to know the truth.” He declared with a much softer tone.

“Maybe not,” she sighed, and for a moment was impossible not feel again like the simple Anya, “but I need it.”

The eldest Lannister looked towards the ceiling as hoping to find the answer to his dilemma on it. After awhile he set his bright green eyes on her, studying her with calm, as if she were a weak horse that couldn’t be trusted with a very heavy burden. Finally he sighed with fatigue, turned his face towards his wife until she nodded imperceptibly; then returned her attention to Daenerys and began to speak.

“If your Majesty wish to share old memories, perhaps we’d be more comfortable in a more _intimate_ place...” Jaime suggested, pointing discreetly to the pair of guards that were guarding him and another half a dozen of guards that were by the doors and behind their Queen.

Daenerys fully trusted in the members of her personal guard, but a little voice inside her head warned her that what was about to hear could make her feel uncomfortable if there were more ears than was necessary. Without exactly knowing if it was for her own good or for showing sympathy to the family of Lannister, she agreed to go to the small room behind the throne from which minutes earlier she had observed her prisoner.

She waited until the guards left before sitting down and asking Tyrion and Lady Brienne to take a seat. Deliberately she left Lannister standing in front of her. Before he could start talking one of the girls claimed her mother’s attention, the woman promptly took the baby in her arms and start rocking her with rhythmic movements until the girl peacefully close her eyes again.

Staring at his wife and daughters, Jaime spoke with a low, serious tone that served to lullaby even more the girl in Brienne’s arms.

“Surely your Highness knows your father was known as the mad king...”

Yes, she knew that. She also knew of certain oddities of her father and had heard about the paranoia that took over him during his last days. She knew many stories about her father, but when she listened to Jaime’s words she understood that most of them had been already sweetened by fear or the pity that she inspired on the person that talk to her. Jaime Lannister was not afraid of her and was furious enough to pity her.

To picture her father prepare and order the destruction of the West’s biggest city, and whatever reason he had to do so, made her felt sick. She believed what had just heard, not only because Tyrion had verified this by linking his brother’s story with the pots of Valyrian fire that served him on the Blackwater battle to, ironically, saved the city, but because between the many defects that the Kingslayer had, lying was not of them.

After a long silence, the soft gurgle of the baby that was still in her basket became a sweet and melodic cry. Without even noticing Daenerys approached and took her in her arms, trying to imitate the natural way that Brienne had rocked her other daughter. When the baby stopped crying and stared at her sighing, she returned to reality.

“What do you expect from me now?” Daenerys asked him as she caressed the little girl’s blonde hair.

“Probably the same thing you have planned to do before knowing all this. The only thing I ask you is that you respect my family’s life. Neither Brienne nor my daughters deserve to pay for choices that I made. You can do with me as you wish, and of course, after the nice time I spent by your father’s side you can imagine I’m prepared for anything. But please,” humility in his voice was as genuine as the midday sun, “allow my wife and daughters to depart in the first ship to Tarth.”

“No!” Screamed the woman placing herself in front of her husband, with one of the girls still in her arms. “I’m not going to be apart from my husband. Whatever fate you decided for him, I’ll share it.” Brienne affirmed, with a strange mixture of plea and threat that managed to move her.

“Don't be an idiot, wench!” Begged Lannister to his wife’s ear. “Go with the girls and forget all about this.”

But Brienne did not give signs to listen to him, and remained protecting the man with her body.

“And what about your daughters, Lady Brienne? Do you expect that they also share their father’s fate?” The baby that Daenerys was holding opened her eyes as if knowing her destiny was about to be decided.

“They have nothing to do with this. I know you’re not a cruel woman; you won’t punish them to satisfy your thirst for revenge. Let them go safely to Tarth with their grandfather and if you can’t understand that Jaime did the only thing that could be done, then do with us what you feel like doing.”

Daenerys sighed before turning around to put the girl in her basket. She looked at her for one last time when the baby refused to release her index finger and instead squeezed it strongly with her tiny fist. No, of course she couldn’t damage these children. She admired the courage and strength of their mother, and the loyalty and detachment of wealth that their father had. Above all she appreciated the devotion, love and blind trust that both professed to each other. But she was no longer a frightened girl and her decisions could not be based on absurd romanticism.

With a quick movement she let go the baby’s hand and walked away from her.

“Lord Tyrion, please make sure that the prisoner returns to his room.” She ordered turning away from them abruptly. “The Lady Brienne and her daughters may remain with him until I made my choice.”

***

Daenerys spent hours in her chambers trying in vain to find the right choice. She wanted to be fair, but had to keep her realm safe, and she also wanted to avenge his father’s death and all the years she lived in exile and thanks to others’ charity; but she also felt the need to honor the man who had saved thousands of lives in one day. How to reconcile all that in a single action? How to be fair without looking weak? How could she keep together the family of the man who, one way or another destroy her own?

When one of her servants brought her the dinner she rejected it. She had a severe headache and her body was helplessly trying to combat the nausea that now came together with a persistent aroma of burning flesh.

She drank some wine and asked for Tyrion. She knew that she won’t get from him the most objective advice, but she needed to talk to someone, and she also felt curious about the position his Hand would take.

Tyrion showed up by her side very soon. He looked troubled but struggling to keep a neutral expression. He barely greeted her with a slight bow of the head and as soon as his little legs carried him to one of the seats took one without asking for permission.

Life, no doubt, had its little whims; she had come to regard the youngest of the Lannister as a friend, while her hatred for the eldest had remained constant throughout her life.

“I didn’t know the truth. He never talked about what happened. I always assumed that he evaded the topic... for shame or for other reason that I wasn’t aware of. Now I know that he kept silence by simple pride. He knew nobody would believe him.” He explained, giving her no time to ask anything. “Who would believe a Lannister could act for any other reason than lust of power, wealth, or revenge? The biggest disappointment of Tywin Lannister was his eldest son who showed so little interest in power. I’m aware Jaime would be able to start a war and fight to his last breath to protect those he loves and that he would do whatever it take to avenge them, but his motives would never be merely material.

She nodded and took a place beside him, slowly leaving the glass of wine at the table.

“And now, my Lord Hand, what is your advice on this matter?”

“I’m not the right person to advice on this matter, I’m afraid.” He replied bluntly. “You wanted to meet him personally, to learn how he was, how he acted, to know each reason behind his decisions. You already have all that information first-hand. Now any decision you take is only your responsibility.

“Even believing the story that your brother just told us, the fact that he _is_ the murderer of the King he had sworn to protect remains.” Said she, staring at a drop of wine that glided lazily by her glass.

“True.” Said Tyrion without hesitate. He made a long pause before continuing. “I know what I would have done if I would ever find me in a similar situation that Jaime faced. What would your Highness have done?

She stood up deciding to ignore what anyone else would have considered as an impertinent attitude towards her, and turned her back to the little man while her thoughts, without permission, went to the day her brother Viserys died in front of her eyes. He also was out of control and she had seen him suffer a horrible death with the certainty that it was the only way to stop him.

Daenerys opened the window, trying in vain to chase away those bad memories, or at least keep them at bay.

“Do you realize, Lord Tyrion, that if I decide to grant full pardon to your brother, you would lose Casterly Rock? Do you understand how my image would weaken if I set free my father’s murderer and made public the reasons that I had to do that?”

“I understand that well. I know we all must do some sacrifices in justice’s name.” He said smiling with resignation and approaching the flask of wine.

“Let’s allow that your brother and his wife rest for tonight. Early morning I will let them know my decision and I hope that everyone can find the strength to live with the consequences.” She whisperedenigmatically.

After all, there was only one thing Daenerys Targaryen could do.

 


	11. 11. Night 1001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And some time after the last chapter, we find Brienne and her girls...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is all!  
> Please don't forget your comment. Let me know what do you think about this story.  
> Thanks again to Lauralina!

11\. Night 1001

Brienne got herself comfy between the soft pillows and sighed quietly when the mere effort to rise up a little was more than she could take at that moment. She felt so weak and tired that just being awake left her exhausted. All her body begged for her to give up and closed the eyes, but stubbornly she resisted.

 By her request, the maid has left the window open and the fresh breeze getting through it gave her some strength. The soft scent of salt coming from the port of Tarth had always been one of the things she missed most from her home. Soon it will be three years since she came back home. And still she couldn’t believe life had granted her with another chance to be at Evenfall.

Her daughters now run freely in each hallway and their yells of joy could be heard every day. She had the chance to show each of them her favorite places, those that gave her the most sweet childhood memories. Each afternoon Lord Selwyn spent hours with the girls on his knees filling their heads with stories about gallant knights whom undertook long travels and got victorious from impossible quests gaining the love of their beautiful ladies. Maybe one day, when they were older, he would also tell them the story of the reckless golden knight and his stubborn lady, that had rescued each other so many times that they remained tied even beyond this life.

 Yes, her girls were happy and were surrounded by people who loved them and sacrifice their lives for them. Jaime had also fulfilled that promise to her; she wasn’t alone to raise her daughters.

She closed her eyes for just a moment and immediately she remembered a pair of green eyes. She sighed again, feeling so tired that the only thing she wished for was sleep and watch those eyes again.

She remembered him looking at her in the same way, holding her hand and smiling confidently at her as he did it during their last night at King’s Landing.

  _They were sitting on the bed, the girls sleeping next to them. She looked to the floor defeated, he had finally persuaded her that the best thing to do —the reasonable— was go to Tarth with the girls, and even with her whole heart protesting against the idea of leaving him, when she looked at him in the eyes she understood the only way to give him peace in his final hours was to accept his choice._

_“I won’t be able to do it alone —.” she whispered weakly still holding her husband’s hand and staring to their daughters._

_“You won’t be alone, Brienne. Your father will be with you; you’ll have reliable people helping you —Just be sure to keep that nasty septa away from our daughters.” He told her suddenly stern. “I don’t want that woman filling their heads with bullshit as she did with you, and make them feel like an old and limp horse that someone try to sell to the silliest buyer.”_

_It h_ _ad been a long ago since the last time she had felt like damage merchandise, she have not felt that way since that first kiss, since the first time he held her in his arms. She kissed him and hugged him fiercely._

_“Besides” he told her lively, “I’m talking with a woman who has faced bands of outlaws, bears, the best armies of Westeros, dragons and the Others. A pair of girls with no teeth couldn’t be a bigger challenge —no matter how much Lannister blood they can have.”_

_They lay hugged._

_“I failed again, I couldn’t save you.” She wailed, with her head buried in his neck. “It was useless to come.”_

_“My lady, I can’t agree with you.” Jaime assured her with soft kisses on her nape. “Your reckless stupidity gave me the chance to properly say goodbye to my children and enjoy two more glorious nights with my favorite wench.”_

_Deep in her heart Brienne still had hopes the queen will be fair, but her last words were a clear forecast about what they would be facing. Jaime was sure that all the mercy the Targaryen woman was able to show to them was that last night together and a voyage with no return to Brienne and the girls._

_It was little, so little, but even though the bittersweet taste both of them felt facing the end of their story, they enjoyed their last hours together._

Brienne closed her eyes ready to surrender to drowsiness, though deep in her mind something warned her she had a powerful reason to not do it so. Suddenly the door opened and she heard steps while she struggled to be awake.

“My lady,” said a voice that brought to her deep memories, “your maid gave me something that belongs to you.” The voice approaching whispered softly to her while placing something on her lap.

She finally opened the eyes when the blurry figure place something on her lap and stood near her, watching her. Slowly her vision became clear and she realized that a man was smiling at her and the thing on her lap was moving between her arms.

Just then she remembered why she couldn’t rest yet —she had to see them. The wrap in her arms softly sighed before making little noises, meowing like kittens.

“He meows like a cat.” She mumbled, her mouth was dry and somehow her own voice sound weird.

The man snapped offended.

“He’s not a cat. He’s a lion. A lion cub, Brienne.” He proudly told her.

The somnolence disappeared slowly and when she finally was able to look at the little one, she realized his eyes were open. Just a few hours after been born he already looked at her in that way, half sweet half mocking, which wasn’t a distinctively characteristic of the Tarths.

“He’ll be just like his father.” Brienne assured him, caressing tenderly the head of her son and leading him to her breast so he could feed himself.

“Don’t be so quick to cast curses, dear.” The man interrupted her, taking a place in the huge bed beside her, watching the babe ravenously sucking his mother’s nipple.

“I feel so tired.”

“I know; you lost a lot of blood. Our little lion didn’t make things easy on you.” He told her kissing softly her head.

“Just like his father.” Brienne emphasized as she smiled.

“I wanted to let you rest, but the master said the child needed to be feed.” He explained, putting his arm around her and the child.

 For a long time they kept quiet and watched the baby eagerly eating until his forehead was pearled with sweat and his face became red. Undoubtedly, that characteristic was from his mother side.

“Have you ever regretted it, Jaime?” She asked to put an end to the long silence.

For a brief moment he looked at her without understanding, but then just a glance was enough to know what she meant. It have been many years ago since they could read each other with easiness, since those distant days when they were forced to guessed their movement in the middle of a battle to improve their chances to survive.

“What exactly should I regret, wench? Have been deprived of Casterly Rock and all my wealth and rights? Or maybe should weigh on me the threat of losing my head if I ever leave Tarth?” His mocking voice made Brienne rolled her eyes. Any other time she would have punched him on the ribs but at that time she just scowled before let him continue. “Our queen was strict and firm in front of her realm. She took away all the wealth of her father’s murderer and as reward by the services rendered she let him save his head as long as he remained confined in the simple and remote Tarth, and kept as a secret his reason to kill Aerys.” Jaime stated mimicking the cold tone of Daenerys as she pronounced his sentence.

“Then, do you never miss your home?” Brienne insisted.

“This is my home. Any place with you and our children is my home. The Targaryen took away from me all that didn’t matter to me and gave me in exchange my life. The only life that has made me happy.”

He kissed her on the lips and the boy growled when he was forced to change her position to eat again. His parents watch him until he ended and then the baby sighed and got asleep between the strong arms of his mother.

“Any idea about our lion’s name?”

Just as when the girls were born they had agreed not to choose a name until the baby was in their arms. Many women planned their children’s name since they were kids, but for her maternity always had been something so far away, even before she left Tarth to go with Renly’s army.

She never had understood how strong her wish for a child was until she lost the first one meanwhile they fled from the Wall. She never had felt so broken and empty —so sad as that night. Only Jaime’s arms around her gave her the strength she needed to cope with it and go on. Even in that moment, when her happiness was complete, she used to imagine her daughters running around with their elder brother by their side.

 As time went by and she didn’t get pregnant again, she concealed her bitterness and tried hard to focus in what life gave her; despite everything she was very happy with Jaime and the only clouds in her sky were the fear that someone from Westeros found them and think that maybe after some time her husband could reproach her infertility, but he kept the smile, happy and satisfied as if waking up every morning beside her was more than any man could ask for.

They were happy then —very, therefore perhaps her world turned around when she realized she was pregnant again. Day after day she was concern by the fear of losing her child again, but Jaime was there, he held her and make her feel safe until they have the girls in their arms. By a brief moment she thought her husband, as most of the men would be disappointed for having girls and not a boy, but as impossible as could be, nothing seemed to make him more happy than imagine silly similarities between the girls and his wife: eyes’ color or hair, their ways of looking, even the tiniest shared detail between her and her little imitations excited him.

Everything had been perfect until the day they had to flee again and the girls got sick on their way. Since that day and no matter how much he tried to conceal it, Brienne found him restless and absent-minded very often.

Just a few days after they were safe, Brienne woke up one morning finding her bed empty and a letter in the girls’ crib, in which her husband explained to her what he had done and asked her to wait until she had news from Westeros to return to Tarth with her father.

She didn’t need to read the letter to understand what her heart already knew: she had been happy with Jaime, running away and with all kind of hardships, but without him, even with her daughters and achieving pace and safety, she wouldn’t be happy again.

So she did the only thing she could do and she followed him immediately.

And they there were, three years after their last crazy final adventure, with another child that she wasn’t hoping for and a life that never had dare to wish for her. All that was thanks to Jaime, but she never had found a way to tell him so with words.

The baby in her arms threw a couple of dreamy punches to the air. She wished her son would be exactly like his father: loyal, brave and joyful, willing to give his life to protect those who he loves. She also wished he never had to face cruel choices as his father did. She prayed for her children will be loved and love with that special kind of feeling that obliged them to be a better human been, a love as the one she and Jaime shared.

“I’d like name him after his father.” She said finally.

Jaime hissed and his face suddenly became gloomy.

“I think this world has had enough with just one Jaime Lannister. Believe me, wench, all Westeros is pleased that truly there are no more men like me —Wait, because I’m his father, aren’t I?” He added furrowing.

At that time Brienne gathered the necessary strength to punch her husband. He just laughed.

“You idiot!” She rolled her eyes as always and then, looking at the sleeping baby added: “It’ll be Alexey then. It means “The one to protect and defend” that way somehow he’ll have your name and your true essence with him.

Jaime swallowed up and nodded, his eyes shining in a funny way. He kissed her again and held her closer to him.

Brienne put her head on Jaime’s shoulder and still smiling closed her eyes. She can sleep and dream now, even knowing for sure that the wonderful reality achieved by The Maid of Tarth and The Kingslayer would turn pale the most beautiful of the dreams.


End file.
